Kirsten Black and the Goblet of Fire
by missykirstenblack
Summary: Kirsten Black returns to Hogwarts for her fourth year and is thrown into another adventure. Follows the storyline of the 4th book and is the sequel to Kirsten Carlisle and the Prisoner of Azkaban.
1. The Dursleys

**REVISED 7/14/11**

Houses flashed past as the cab went through the silent neighborhood. A _normal_ neighborhood.

Removing her eyes from the window displaying the countless homes, the girl in the back seat looked over at the driver. His eyes quickly looked back at the road as she caught him staring. She glimpsed down at the piece of paper on her lap and then resumed her staring out the window as the cab turned into another street. The wheels of the car soon slowed down to a stop in front of a nicely groomed home. Neatly cut green grass of the family's lawn stretched out towards the steps of the lovely looking home; a small garden decorated the front of the house and most likely there was a larger garden in the back.

"This is it, Miss," the man said, glancing once again at her from the rear view mirror. "Number four, Privet Drive."

The cab driver clicked a small switch and the car doors unlocked. The black haired girl opened the side door, placed the straps of her bag on her shoulder, and reached out for her large school trunk.

"Miss, I can carry that for you," he said, motioning to grab her trunk from the door opposite of mine. She nodded her head.

"Alright, but careful with it," she told him, her lips twitched up in a sly smile. "We wouldn't want it opening. _Again_."

Marcus Middleton nodded and watched the girl warily. He accidentally dropped her trunk while putting it in earlier. He caught a glimpse of what looked like a stick as it fell on the floor. At first he thought it was a piece to something else. And then his eyes landed on a black mass of cloth and a book with a title _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3_. The girl picked up the stick and put it in her bag, mumbling how she forgot she put it there. Upon setting his eyes on the girl at first, he instantly thought of that man that escaped from prison. Her grey eyes contrasted greatly from her light brown complexion. And long curly black hair framed her face. But there was no way she could be related to that man. Not only did she look like the lunatic but she also resembled a young celebrity from the United States. A new rising star that his young daughter had become obsessed with not so long ago.

He gripped her trunk and took it up next to the door and went back to the girl, who shuffling through her bag.

"How much do I owe you?" she asked.

Marcus went back in his cab to check the total mileage of the trip and his eyes widened at the amount. He hadn't exactly been paying attention to how far he had been driving since he was still caught up about what the young girl held in her luggage. He went back to the girl with the amount memorized.

"Seventy-nine pounds and sixteen pence," he told her.

His eyes bulged as he saw a glimpse in the bag on her shoulder. Wads of notes filled up half the bag. She closed the bag after pulling a couple of notes and she handed them to the flabbergasted cab driver. She was about to turn and go up to the house but he was curious. He wanted to know who this odd girl was.

"Who are you?" he asked. He winced inwardly at his obviously blunt and rude behavior. An odd feeling rushed through him when her grey eyes pierced him. "I mean…you look very familiar is all. Somewhat like that girl from the States. Daughter talks about her all the time. Jacklay, I think."

He could see a smirk forming on her face as he kept stumbling over his words.

"Name's Kirsten Black," she said. The man's eyes widened as he heard her last name.

"You don't happen to be —"

"Related to Sirius Black?" she interrupted, raising an eyebrow as she looked at him. "He happens to be my father."

He didn't know what to do. Or _feel_. Britain's most wanted man's daughter was standing before him. She seemed a decent enough girl. A bit mischievous and _odd_. He felt a strange pity for the girl. _She must have a hard time._

He wondered who's house she was going to now. _Her mother's? No, she would probably be up and out of the house to see her._

"You look a bit young to have a daughter that knows Jacklay," she commented. And he was. He was only seventeen when his daughter was born. His girlfriend at the time gave birth to his little girl and left them both.

"Yeah, she's just turned ten yesterday," he replied, smiling a bit to himself at the small party he had with her. He looked back at the girl and saw a flicker of sadness before she smiled at him. She reached into her bag once again, produced several more pounds, and slipped it into his hands.

"I — I can't accept this," he said, astounded. This young girl who couldn't be more than fifteen or sixteen was handing him a large amount of money.

"Yes, you can," she told him. "And next time I need a ride, I'll call for you Mr. —" she paused as she waited for him to tell her his name.

"Marcus. Marcus Middleton," he said.

Her eyes flitted over to the house and then back at him, a smile crept onto her face and he caught a hint of mischief glittering behind her eyes.

"Well, it was great meeting you," she said, pulling out a sheet of paper from her bag and a pen. "Write your number down."

And he did. It wasn't as if he was giving her his address or anything too personal. After exchanging another round of goodbyes, he finally made his way to the driver's seat. His eyes glanced to the rearview mirror to see the girl already bounding up the steps of the house. And one thing entered his mind. There was absolutely no way he would ever be able to forget this girl.

Kirsten Black watched as the cab driver turned the corner and her grin widened as she whirled around to face the door. She saw eyes peeking from the window curtain when she was talking with the driver. And she wasn't surprised to see the door open as soon as the cab disappeared from view. She also wasn't surprised to see the large, beefy man from King's Cross station glare down at her.

"What are _you_ doing here?" the man snarled. The answer to his question temporarily remained a mystery when she noticed a heavy set boy gazing at her.

_Dudley._

The boy came closer to the door, his eyes still glued to her and they suddenly widened in realization.

"Jacklay?" the boy exclaimed, excitement clearly evident in his voice. His beefy hand wrapped around her thin hand and he led her into the living room.

_Is he this stupid?_

Apparently, it looked as if his dad was contemplating the same thing. Kirsten caught him staring at the two with a look of shock.

"Wait till I call Pierce," he said. And with that, the large boy practically stampeded out of the room and from her sight.

The sound of heels clicking against the hardwood floor grabbed Kirsten's attention, and she turned to see the newcomer. Short curls surrounded the woman's horse like face; her brown eyes widened as they settled on the black haired witch. A frightened gasp came from the woman and she clutched her chest.

"Your — you —" the woman stopped herself and started mumbling incoherently.

Kirsten raised an eyebrow at the woman's actions. The curly haired woman took a step back away from her as if she was some sort of poisonous snake. Then something dawned on Kirsten. And she realized why the woman was stuttering. She inwardly rolled her eyes at her forgetfulness. Standing before her was a woman who knew her mother. A woman who grew up with her.

"Kia?"

At the use of her nickname, Kirsten looked over at the stairway, where the questioning voice originated from. Standing there was her best friend. The green eyed boy blinked back a couple of times as if to make sure it's not his imagination.

"Hello Harry," she greeted him with a grin.

"What are you doing here?" the voice of the beefy man demanded. Kirsten turned her head to glance at the angry face of Vernon Dursley. Once again she didn't answer his question because of his son; who bounded into the room with a telephone by his ear, while talking animatedly.

"Hang up the phone, Dudders," she said, her eyes boring into his pig-like face. His jaw slackened at her words, hung up the phone, and set it down. He peered closer at her, trying to remember from where else he had seen her. Then it dawned on him and he looked at her as if he got slapped in the face.

"_Carlisle?_"

Vernon's eyes went from his son to Kirsten.

"You know this girl?" the man barked, looking at his son incredulously. Dudley nodded his head as he stared at Kirsten with a mix of confusion and shock.

"We went to the same school," she informed him. She decided to leave out the fact that she was the one who gave Dudley a stomach ache and several other injuries from their school days. Her eyes landed on Dudley as she spoke again. "Anyways, it's Kirsten Black."

Confusion swirled within those little piggy eyes of his and she decided to explain to him.

"That madman who broke out of prison, Sirius Black, is my father," she told him. "Turns out I'm a witch."

At the mention of the last word, Dudley's eyes immediately widened and he clapped his hands over his bottom. He scooted further away, scuttling towards his mother. Kirsten was watching Vernon in fascination at the alarming shade of purple that flared across his face.

"Don't you _ever_ say that _word_ again!" he shouted at the top his lungs. His yelling didn't even seem to faze her as she continued to stare at his face. Silence ensued after his outburst, with the three watching Vernon and Kirsten watching one another.

"Did you know," she said, breaking the silence, "that you're face turns an odd shade of purple? It doesn't seem very healthy to me. You should go to a doctor to get that checked."

He _was_ going to say something back until he suddenly remembered who he was talking to. There was no way he wanted that insane father of hers to burst into their home. And Kirsten knew that he was thinking exactly this.

"Anyways, I'm here because I heard the Weasleys are picking him up today," she said, answering his earlier question. His eyes flew from Harry to Kirsten once again. "And daddy dearest asked me to check on Harry."

It was true. He had sent her only one letter and in the end, he asked if she could stop by the Dursleys. Vernon's beady eyes glanced at her, fear evident in his eyes as his face turned back into that alarming shade of purple.

"You sent the letter to _him_, didn't you?" Vernon asked Harry.

"Yeah, I did," Harry replied, trying very hard not to let his smile show. The attention of Harry's mad uncle was now on me. _Again._ He opened his mouth and then closed it. Not one word coming out.

"_They_ told me you were dead."

The quiet voice could be heard throughout the living room and Kirsten's eyes landed on the speaker. Harry and Dudley curiously watched Petunia's and Kirsten's interaction.

"Apparently, I'm not," Kirsten told her shortly. Her eyes connected with the woman's. "I — I don't know how to explain…just been living in an orphanage for the past twelve years till I ran away."

That was more than enough information she wanted to share with the family. And she quickly found another change of subject.

"What time are they supposed to come?" she asked Harry.

"Five o' clock," the green eyed boy replied. She glanced at the clock on the wall to see it was five minutes past five. Vernon opened the front door, peering up and down the street, and slammed the door shut.

"They're late," he snarled at Harry. Kirsten's eyes narrowed at the large man but he didn't notice.

_He's quick to bounce back._

"I know," Harry said, glancing at Kirsten for a moment. "Maybe — er — the traffic's bad, or something."

The clock stroke at ten past five and Kirsten had enough of Harry's uncle glaring at the two of them.

"Harry, is Hedwig in you're room?" she asked quietly. He shook his head. "I think heard her come back. You should go up and check."

"Kia, I didn't hear —"

"Harry, just go check," she whispered, throwing him a small grin. He gave her an exasperated look and headed out of the living room. As soon as Harry left, her hand slipped inside her bag, wrapping her fingers around a thin item.

"Where the ruddy hell is that boy going?"

"Don't go after him," she told him quietly, gaining the attention of the rest of the occupants. All their eyes landed on the item in her right hand as she pulled it out, pointing it at the head Dursley. She knew what they had done to Harry during the summer and previous summers. Ron didn't hesitate to tell her his previous adventures of helping Harry escape with Mr. Weasley's flying car. And this year they put him on a diet that he didn't need. They were _starving_ him.

"You can't scare me with that," he said confidently. Though the wary look at her wand said otherwise. "You're not allowed to do any _waving_ out of that _school_."

"You don't seem to understand that my father is a wanted man. He won't hesitate to take care of you and apparently, neither will I. And no one _will_ stop me," she hissed. She stepped closer to Vernon, who moved back immediately at the proximity of her wand. "Don't mistreat Harry ever again."

Face once again turning purple, Vernon stared at the young witch with his mouth slightly opened and his eyes widened in fear. She didn't bother looking at the other two Dursleys, and her attention was turned to the pair of footsteps descending the stairs. She placed her wand back in her bag before Harry appeared.

The bespectacled boy opened his mouth to say something until he noticed the tension in the air. His uncle's face was once again purple and his aunt and cousin were huddled together, watching with fear. Harry's eyes finally landed on Kirsten, who had a grin on her face.

"Harry, can I speak with you privately?"

"Now wait right there!" Vernon yelled, speaking for the first time since she threatened him. "I will not let you roam around my house!"

Her eyes darted to the large, purple-faced man. He clamped his mouth shut as his eyes traveled towards the bag on her shoulders and didn't make a single move to stop her as she walked out of the room. Harry quickly followed her to the staircase. They both seated themselves on the bottom of the steps.

"What happened, Kia?"

He stared at his childhood friend with a questioning look. Kirsten shrugged her shoulders up, feigning innocence. But Harry knew her better than that and it wasn't only because of the mischievous smile on her face.

"Just had a chat with your dear old uncle," she told him. Harry raised his eyebrows in an unconvinced manner.

"You threatened him, didn't you?" he said. Her smile widened at his correct answer and he shot her an amused look.

"Hey, they put you on a diet," she replied. At her response, Harry's brow knitted together in thought.

_Damn, I shouldn't have said that._

"You sent me food."

"Yes, and I hope you ate it," she told him. But Harry just shook his head.

"You hardly have any money in your vault," he whispered. All summer, Harry had been sending letters to Kirsten about giving her some of his gold in his vault. They both realized that the gift Sirius bought for Harry took up most of her money in the vault.

However, Kirsten waved him off. Just like she was doing now.

"I got a job," was her immediate reply. It was silent for a second between them and Kirsten was grateful Harry was no longer asking her questions.

"Maybe they think they'll get invited to dinner if they're late," they heard Petunia Dursley say from the living room.

"Well, they most certainly won't be," Vernon said. She could hear his footsteps pacing the living room. "They'll take them both and go, there'll be no hanging around. That's if they're coming at all. Probably mistaken the day. I daresay _their kind_ don't set much store by punctuality. Either that or they drive in some tin-pot car that's broken d—AAAAAAAAAAAARGH!"

Kirsten jumped at the loud yell that erupted from the living room and Harry stood up as well. In the next second, Dudley scrambled out into the hall with his hands still clamped over his bottom, waddling into the kitchen quickly. Her lips twitched upward at the sight, and both her and Harry entered the living room to find Petunia and Vernon backed up against the wall. Their faces expressed horror as they stared at the fireplace, where a fake coal fire resided in front of it.

"What is it?" Petunia gasped, terrified. "What is it, Vernon?"

"Ouch! Fred, no — go back, go back, there's been some kind of mistake — tell George not to — OUCH! George, no, there's no room, go back quickly and tell Ron —"

"Maybe Harry or Kia can hear us, Dad — maybe they'll be able to let us out —"

"Wait, Kia's there? Why doesn't anyone tell me anything?"

A loud hammering of fists banged against the boards from behind the electric fire. Even with their voices muffled, she knew who they were and almost laughed.

"Harry? Kia? Can you hear us?"

The Dursleys suddenly rounded on us like ravaging wolves.

"What is this?" Vernon growled. "What's going on here?"

"They — they've tried to get here by Floo Powder," Harry told his furious uncle, fighting a mad desire to laugh. Apparently, he thought the situation as funny as Kirsten did. "They can travel by fire — only you've blocked the fireplace — hang on —"

Harry approached the fireplace.

"Mr. Weasley, can you hear me?"

The hammering fists against the wooden boards came to a halt and Kirsten heard a "shh!"

"Mr. Weasley, it's Harry…the fireplace has been blocked up. You won't be able to get through there," Harry informed him.

"Damn!" I heard Mr. Weasley say from within the chimney. "What on earth did they want to block up the fireplace for?"

"They've got an electric fire," Harry explained.

"Really?" The excitement in his voice was evident and Kirsten tried her hardest to suppress her laughter, resulting in a snort. "Eclectic, you say? With a plug? Gracious, I must see that…Let's think…ouch, Ron!"

"What are we doing here? Has something gone wrong?" Ron's voice asked from behind the boarded fireplace.

"Oh no, Ron," Fred said sarcastically. "No, this is exactly where we wanted to end up."

"Yeah, we're having the time of our lives here," George agreed, his voice muffled as if his face were squished against the board.

"Boys…boys…." Mr. Weasley said vaguely. "I'm trying to think. What to do…yes…only…stand back, Harry."

Harry moved to stand beside Kirsten and they both threw each other an amused look. However, Vernon moved forward with a superior expression on his face.

"Wait a moment!" he bellowed at the fireplace. "What exactly are you going —"

BANG.

Kirsten's eyes took in the fast moving boards in a slow take as the electric fireplace shot across the living room. Her eyes then trained on four bright red heads clambering to their feet in the cloud of rubble. Petunia shrieked, falling over the coffee table and Vernon caught her before she hit the floor. The beefy man gaped speechless at the newcomers.

"That's better," Mr. Weasley panted, brushing dust from his long green robes and straightening his glasses. Eyes roaming the room, Mr. Weasley spotted Vernon and Petunia Dursley.

"Ah — you must be Harry's aunt and uncle!" He moved towards Vernon with his hand outstretched but Vernon stepped back with a bewildered Petunia.

"Er—yes—sorry about that," Mr. Weasley said hesitantly, lowering his hand and glancing back at the fireplace. "It's all my fault. It just didn't occur to me that we wouldn't be able to get out at the other end. I had your fireplace connected to the Floo Network, you see — just for an afternoon, you know so we can get Harry and Kia. Muggle fireplaces aren't supposed to be connected, strictly speaking — but I've got a useful contact at the Floo Regulation Panel and he fixed it for me. I can put it right in a jiffy, though, don't worry. I'll just light a fire to send the boys and Kia back, and then I can repair your fireplace before I Disapparate."

From the looks on their faces, Kirsten could tell that they had absolutely no clue what the redheaded man told them. I can tell that they have absolutely no clue what the man just told them.

"Hello Kia, Harry!" Mr. Weasley said brightly. At the mention of her name, Kirsten gave him a kind smile. "Got your trunks ready?"

"Mine's upstairs and Kia's is right there," Harry said, grinning back and pointing at her trunk on the other side of the room near the front door. Kirsten frowned at the sight of her trunk. She didn't remember bringing it in.

"We'll get it," Fred said at once, winking at the two of them. The redheaded twins went into the hall and out of sight.

"Well," Mr. Weasley said, breaking the awkward silence. "Very — erm — nice place you've got here."

Kirsten smirked at Mr. Weasley's comment.

The spotless living room she entered not too long ago was now covered in dust and bits of brick. Vernon's face once again turned a deep shade of purple and Petunia started chewing her tongue. It was obvious the two wanted to chew him out. However, the look in both of their eyes gave off fear at what had been done and by whom. Mr. Weasley glanced around the area and Kirsten could practically see him itching to go and examine the television.

_His kids weren't kidding._ Over Kirsten's third year, Ron, Percy, Ginny, Fred, and George would talk about their dad's unhealthy fascination with Muggle items.

"They run off eckletricity, do they?" he said knowledgably. "Ah yes, I can see the plugs," he added to Vernon. "And batteries. Got a very large collection of batteries. My wife thinks I'm mad."

She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the look on Vernon's face, but her attention was caught by the clunking sound of a trunk. Dudley rushed back into the room and attempted to hide behind his parents. Gazing at Mr. Weasley with terrified eyes, Dudley pressed his hands firmly against his backside. It was slightly disturbing for Kirsten to see this odd side of Dudley. She had half a mind to advise Dudley to see some sort of specialist but decided against it. It was funny after all.

"Well, he sure loves his ass…" she mumbled to herself. Harry and Ron heard her comment and sniggered.

"And is this your cousin?" Mr. Weasley asked, examining the poor boy.

"Yup, that's Dudley," Harry confirmed.

"Having a good holiday, Dudley?" Mr. Weasley asked kindly. Dudley whimpered in response while Fred and George came back into the room, carrying Harry's trunk. Fred walked across the room over to my trunk and lifted it up.

"Merlin, Kia. What did you pack in here?" Fred asked. Though Kirsten noticed that his eyes were not on her but on the heavy set boy, who was hiding behind his parents. And so was George. Both of their faces cracked into evil identical grins.

"Alright, better get cracking then," Mr. Weasley said, pushing up his sleeves and taking out his wand. Out of the corner of her eye, Kirsten saw the Dursleys move back against the wall.

"_Incendio!_" Mr. Weasley said, pointing his wand at the fireplace. Sparks immediately flew and a fire magically erupted into tall flames. He pulled out a small drawstring bag from his pocket, untied it, took a pinch of the sparkling powder and threw it in the flames.

"Okay, Fred, you and Kia's trunk."

"Alright," Fred said, taking a step but a bag of sweets spilled out of his pockets. The contents were now rolling in every direction — big, fat toffees in brightly colored wrappers.

"Oh no — hang on —"

Scrambling to pick them up, Fred crammed them into his pocket and gave the Dursleys a cheerful wave. Mr. Weasley helped him place Kirsten's trunk into the fire and Fred went in himself.

"The Burrow!" he yelled, a whooshing sound came from the fireplace and Fred vanished from sight.

"Right then, George," Mr. Weasley said, "you and Harry's trunk."

Harry helped George with his trunk, entered the fire, and shouted "the Burrow!" and with another whoosh he vanished.

"Ron, you next," Mr. Weasley told him.

"See you," Ron said brightly to the Dursleys, then flashed both Harry and Kirsten a grin. He stepped into the fire, shouted "the Burrow!" and disappeared.

Kirsten went up to the fireplace next. She turned her head back to settle her eyes on the Dursleys. She smirked at the colorful wrapper in Dudley's hands and entered the fireplace. The tall emerald flames harmlessly licked against her body.

"The Burrow!"


	2. The Burrow

**REVISED 7/14/11**

"Did he eat it?"

Kirsten was met with the excited voices of the Fred Weasley. A smirk tugged at her lips when she looked at him.

"Stuffed it in his mouth before I left," she told him. She didn't bother asking what it was, knowing that it will be explained soon, and took in her surroundings. She gazed at the objects in the house in awe and stepped out of the fireplace. Her eyes roamed the tiny kitchen, taking in every detail while her smirk grew to a grin as they lingered on the occupants of the kitchen chairs.

"Finally great to meet you, Kia," the nearest of the two men said, getting to his feet and holding out his hand. Kirsten's thin hand wrapped around the man's hand, feeling the calluses and blisters rubbing against hers. His weather-beaten and freckly face flashed her a smile and she noticed on one of his muscular arms reflected a shiny burn. "I'm Charlie."

"Great to finally meet you too," she said, smiling kindly at her friend's older brother. _Not bad looking at all._

The eldest brother got to his feet and took her hand in his. She momentarily blinked back as she took in his appearance. His long red hair was tied back in a ponytail and a fang earring hung in his ear. As much as Ron talked about his two oldest brothers, he left out one important fact. They were handsome.

"They told me you were head boy," she said, grinning.

"I _was_," Bill stated, smiling at her reaction. Kirsten briefly wondered if Percy was going to end up like the eldest brother until a swooshing noise filled the kitchen. She turned around to see Harry covered in soot.

"What happened?" Fred asked Harry.

"He ate it, and his tongue was swelling up…." Harry said, trailing off as he straightens up. Curiosity clear in his eyes, Harry looked at Fred in interest. "What _was _it?"

"Ton-Tongue Toffee," Fred answered brightly. "George and I invented them and we've been looking to try them on someone all summer…"

Kirsten laughed as she imagined Dudley's swollen tongue and his parents panicking over their child's abnormality. Bill and Charlie introduced themselves to Harry. A faint popping noise resounded in the kitchen and Mr. Weasley materialized out of thin air at George's side. The look on the Arthur Weasley's face was the angriest that Kirsten had ever seen.

"That _wasn't funny_, Fred!" he shouted at his son. "What on earth did you give that Muggle boy?"

"I didn't give him anything," Fred told him, grinning like the little devil he was. "I just _dropped_ it…. It was his fault he went and ate it, I never told him to."

"You dropped it on purpose!" Mr. Weasley roared. "You knew he'd eat it, you knew he was on a diet —"

"How big did his tongue get?" George asked eagerly, ignoring the fact that his father was shouting at him and his brother.

"It was four feet long before his parents would let me shrink it!"

Kirsten's eyebrows shot up at the fact while the redheaded siblings roared with laughter. Her eyes flitted to Fred and George, and she wondered if they made the toffee or if they just bought it.

"It _isn't funny_!" Mr. Weasley yelled. "That sort of behavior seriously undermines wizard — Muggle relations! I spend half my life campaigning against the mistreatment of Muggles, and my own sons —"

"We didn't give it to him because he's a Muggle!" Fred said indignantly.

"No, we gave it to him because he's a great bullying git," George told his father, as if made all the sense in the world. "And Kia knows he is too. Her and Harry went to the same school when they were little."

"That's not the point!" Mr. Weasley raged, pointing his finger at his two devious sons. "You wait until I tell your mother —"

"Tell me what?"

The voice came from behind Mr. Weasley. Kirsten's eyes landed on a gentle faced woman, whose eyes were narrowed with suspicion at her husband. The redheaded woman glanced at Harry and Kirsten.

"Oh hello, dears," she said kindly, smiling at the two. Her eyes immediately snapped back to her husband. "Tell me _what_, Arthur?"

Kirsten saw the Mr. Weasley's hesitation while eyeing his wife nervously, and realized he actually wasn't going to tell her anything. She smiled slightly as she watched both husband and wife for several seconds until her attention landed on two girls in the kitchen doorway behind them. She threw the two girls a smile and they smiled back at her. However, Ginny turned a deep shade of scarlet in a matter of seconds, and Kirsten raised an eyebrow at her reaction. From the corner of her eye, she saw Harry smiling in that direction as well.

"Tell me _what_, Arthur?" Mrs. Weasley repeated, catching Kirsten's attention once again with her dangerously low voice. It came to Kirsten's attention that Mrs. Weasley was one hell of a dangerous woman. From kind to dangerous in a second, she was one woman she didn't was to mess with.

"It's nothing, Molly," Mr. Weasley mumbled, "Fred and George just — but I've had words with them —"

"What have they done this time?" Mrs. Weasley asked, glancing at her twin sons with her narrowed eyes. "If it's got anything to do with Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes —"

"Why don't you show Harry where he's sleeping, Ron?" Hermione suggested from the doorway. "And Ginny and I can show Kia?"

"He knows where he's sleeping," Ron said, "in my room, he slept there last —"

"Kia doesn't know where she's sleeping," Hermione said pointedly. "How about we all go?"

"Oh," Ron said, catching on to what Hermione's saying. "Right."

"Yeah, we'll come too," George said, moving to the doorway and trying to escape their mother's wrath.

"_You stay where you are!_" Mrs. Weasley snarled, glaring at George.

Kirsten bit her lip to keep from laughing at Fred and George, and ducked out of the kitchen before things got uglier. Hermione and Ginny caught her look of amusement and shook their heads. Ron and Harry came into the narrow hallway and they all set up the rickety staircase.

"What are Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes?" Harry asked curiously. Both Ron and Ginny laughed but Hermione didn't.

"Mum found this stack of order forms when she was cleaning Fred and George's room," Ron said quietly. "Great long price lists for stuff they've invented. Joke stuff, you know. Fake wands and trick sweets, loads of stuff. It was brilliant, I never knew they'd been inventing all that…"

"We've been hearing explosions out of their room for ages, but we never thought they were actually _making_ things," Ginny informed both Harry and Kirsten. "We thought they just liked the noise."

"Only, most of the stuff — well, all of it, really — was a bit dangerous," Ron added, "and, you know, they were planning to sell it at Hogwarts to make some money, and Mum went mad at them. Told them they weren't allowed to make any more of it, and burned all their order forms….She's furious at them anyway. They didn't get as many O.W.L' s as she expected."

"And then there was this big row," Ginny added, "because Mum wants them to go into the Ministry like Dad, and they told her all they wan to do is open a joke shop."

They ended up on a platform, where several doors ran along the wall. One of the doors squeaked open, revealing the redheaded brother that graduated from Hogwarts recently.

"Hi, Percy," Harry said.

"Hey," Kirsten said, smiling at the graduate.

"Oh hello, Harry, Kia," Percy said. "I was wondering who was making all the noise. I'm trying to work in here, you know — I've got a report to finish for the office — and it's rather difficult to concentrate when people keep thundering up and down the stairs."

Kirsten watched Percy with a small smile. He was kind to her last year and obviously let _some _of her late night outings slip away. But that might've been because she kept on getting points docked off anyway. She remembered her first encounter with Ron and Percy together at the Leaky Cauldron last year, and understood Ron's scowl.

"We're not _thundering_," Ron said, irritated at his older brother. "We're walking. Sorry if we've disturbed the top-secret workings of the Ministry of Magic."

"Top-secret workings for the Ministry of Magic?" she questioned, looking curiously at Percy. "What are you working on, if you don't mind?"

"A report for the Department of International Magical Cooperation," Percy replied smugly. He seemed pleased that someone was interested in his work. "We're trying to standardize cauldron thickness. Some of these foreign imports are just a shade too thin — leakages have been increasing at a rate of almost three percent a year —"

"That'll change the world, that report will," Ron said, interrupting him. "Front page of the _Daily Prophet_, I expect, cauldron leaks."

Percy's face turned a light shade of pink as he glared at his younger brother.

"You might sneer, Ron," he retorted heatedly, "but unless some sort of international law is imposed we might as well find the market flooded with flimsy, shallow-bottomed products that seriously endanger —"

"Yeah, yeah, all right," Ron interrupted him once again, continuing the trek up the stairs. Percy slammed his bedroom door shut, leaving the group in silence. That is until shouts of Mrs. Weasley echoed from the kitchen, and they continued on upward.

"You know, Ron," Kirsten said, getting his attention, "I thought that was interesting. It's not like I want to get cheated when trying to buy a new cauldron."

"Shut up, Kia" he retorted, opening the door. Kirsten entered Ron's room and spotted a fish tank sitting on the windowsill, containing an extremely large frog. The little hyperactive owl that Sirius gave him was twittering frantically in his cage. Posters of Ron's favorite Quidditch team, the Chudley Cannons, were plastered on his wall and on the sloping ceiling.

"Shut up, Pig," Ron said, edging his way between two out of the four beds in the room. Kirsten shot Ron a strange look. _Pig? Doesn't he know his animals? _"Fred and George are in here with us because Bill and Charlie are in their rooms. Percy gets to keep his room all to himself because he's got to work."

"Er — why are you calling that owl Pig?" Harry asked. He, too, looked at Ron strangely.

"I was about to ask the same thing," Kirsten commented, looking at Ron questionably as well.

"Because he's being stupid," Ginny replied. "It's proper name is Pigwidgeon."

"Yeah, and that's not a stupid name at all," Ron says sarcastically. "Ginny named him," Ron explains to both Harry and Kirsten. "She reckons it's sweet. And I tried to change it, but it was too late, he won't answer to anything else. So now he's Pig. I've got to keep him up here because he annoys Errol and Hermes. He annoys me too, come to that."

Kirsten's gaze landed on the twittering bird and the corners of her mouth moved up at the site.

"Where's Crookshanks?" Harry asked Hermione.

"Out in the garden, I expect," she replied. "He likes chasing gnomes. He's never seen any before."

"So, I guess Percy's enjoying his work?" Kirsten asked Ron, eyes roaming the room. The grey orbs momentarily stopped on a poster between the Chudley Cannons Seeker and another poster of the actual team. My eyes roaming the room and they landed on a poster between the Chudley Cannons Seeker and the Chudley Cannons team. A smile broke free onto her face as she looked back at youngest Weasley son.

"Enjoying it?" Ron responded darkly. "I don't reckon he'd come home if Dad didn't make him. He's obsessed. Just don't get him onto the subject of his boss. _According to Mr. Crouch…as I saying to Mr. Crouch…Mr. Crouch is of the opinion…Mr. Crouch was telling me…_They'll be announcing their engagement any day now."

Kirsten let out a good laugh at Ron's disgust.

"Have you had a good summer, Harry?" Hermione asked. "Did you get our food parcels and everything?"

"Yeah, thanks a lot. Those cakes saved my life," Harry said gratefully. His brilliant emerald green eyes landed on the black haired witch, and a thoughtful expression crossed his features. "Did any of you tell Kia about the diet Dudley's on?"

"No, no I don't think so," Ron said quickly, looking at Kirsten. Besides the fact that he replied a little too fast and his ears reddening suggested otherwise. Harry, Hermione, and Ginny grinned while Kirsten threw Ron a hopeless look.

_Really need to teach him how to lie._

"How was your summer, Kia?" Ron asked, changing the subject.

"Been here and there," she told them, shrugging her shoulders. "Got a small job."

Ron and Harry shot her a look of disbelief at her vague answer. They obviously wanted her to elaborate. They knew, though, that she wouldn't budge about anything until she wanted to tell them and decided to drop the topic. However, Ron's change of topic wasn't exactly the brightest thing to discuss at the time.

"And have you heard from —?"

Kirsten noticed the next word about to exit his mouth and slapped his head.

"What the bloody hell was _that_ for?" Ron demanded angrily, rubbing the side of his head.

"Sorry, Ron, I thought I saw bug she told him, shifting her eyes to silently point out that his little sister was still in the room.

"Thanks but did you have to hit _that_ hard?" he asked. "Besides, Mum charmed the house from bugs."

"Ron, you're a fan?" Harry asked, eyeing the same spot Kirsten's eyes landed earlier. Moving around in the poster was the celebrity that the cab driver, Marcus Middleton, and Dudley had mistaken Kirsten for earlier. Stray strands of straight black hair fell into the face of a young woman. Her light grey eyes stood out immensely with her light brown skin. Everyone's eyes settled on Ron, and he turned slightly pink.

"So am I," Ginny said, speaking up. Kirsten saw the look of confusion on Harry's face and apparently so did Ginny. "Besides with the Muggles, she's a huge hit in the Wizarding World," she added.

It was several seconds when Harry's eyes went back and forth from Kirsten to the picture of the young woman.

"Kia, you look exactly like her," Harry said.

"Well, except for the fact that Jacklay's from America," Hermione spoke up. Kirsten eyed her friend warily when she saw a smile on Hermione's face and an odd spark in her eyes. Harry had told Kirsten, before she met Hermione, that the clever witch was to put it in her short words "a prude." That opinion definitely changed over their third year. "So what _was_ your job?"

Kirsten narrowed her eyes on Hermione and smirked at her.

"I think they've stopped arguing," Kirsten said, then turned to the two Weasleys. "Should we go down and help your mum with dinner?"

"Yeah, all right," Ron said, standing along side Kirsten. They both went out of the door together. "It still hurts you know.

"Except for the fact that Jacklay's hair is straight and she's American," Hermione reasons, staring in my direction and not at the poster. "Anyways, I think they've stopped arguing. Should we go down and help your Mum with dinner?"

"Yeah, all right," Ron says, getting up and we both stand next to each other. We head out of the door to the stairs. "It's not like I was actually going to say his name. And it still hurts you know."

"Are you kidding? I lightly tapped your head," she told him, raising her eyebrows. Ron looked at her as if she were mad.

"_Lightly tapped my head_?" Ron said incredulously. "Are you off your rocker? You basically punched me!"

"Punched you?" she retorted, descending the stairs with Ron at her side. "_You_ must be off your rocker. My _palm_ hit your head not my _fist_. Do you want to know the difference?"

"Can you two shut up?"

"Oh shut the hell up," Kirsten muttered angrily at Harry.

"Kirsten!" Hermione scolded. The black haired witch just rolled her eyes and smiled slightly.

The group of five entered the kitchen to find an extremely bad tempered Mrs. Weasley alone.

"We're eating out in the garden," she stated. "There's just not room for twelve in here. Could you take the plates outside, girls? Bill and Charlie are setting up the table. Knives and forks, please, you two," she directed the last instructions to Ron and Harry. Hermione split the pile of plates for all three of us and Kirsten grabbed her share and went out the back door to the garden. Her eyes caught sight of the eldest Weasley siblings waving their wands around. She looked up to see two battered tables collide with one another. Ginny laughed, Fred and George cheered, and Hermione looked torn between amusement and anxiety. my share. Footsteps reached Kirsten's ears and she turned her head around to see Harry and Ron with the forks and knives. Bill's table caught Charlie's, knocking one of its legs off and resulting in a huge bang.

Above the group of witches and wizards, Percy opened his window and stared his two eldest brothers down.

"Will you keep it down?" he bellowed.

"Sorry, Perce," Bill said, grinning. "How are the cauldron bottoms coming on?"

"Very badly," Percy replied peevishly, slamming the window shut. Chuckling at the edgy attitude Percy displayed, Bill and Charlie directed the tables safely on the grass. And with the flick of his wand, Bill reattached the table leg and conjured tablecloths from nowhere.

* * *

The delicious aroma of chicken filled Kirsten's nose and her eyes looked along the table at the chicken, boiled potatoes, and salad. She piled the food onto her plate and began to eat. Different conversations were held all along the table but her interest landed on the conversation between Mr. Weasley and Percy.

"— You realize Bertha Jorkins has been missing for over a month now? Went on holiday to Albania and never came back."

"Yes, I was asking Ludo about that," Mr. Weasley said, frowning. "He says Bertha's gotten lost plenty of times before now—though I must say if it was someone in my department, I'd be worried…."

"Oh Bertha's _hopeless_, all right," Percy said in a matter of fact tone. "I hear she's been shunted from department to department for years, much more trouble than she's worth…but all the same, Bagman ought to be trying to find her. Mr. Crouch has been taking a personal interest, she worked in our department at one time, you know, and I think Mr. Crouch was quite fond of her — but Bagman just keeps laughing and saying she probably misread the map and ended up in Australia instead of Albania. However" — Percy heaved an impressive sigh and took a deep swig of elderflower wine — "we've got quite enough on our plates at the Department of International Magical Cooperation without trying to find members of other departments, too. As you know, we've got another big event to organize right after the World Cup."

Kirsten looked questioningly at Percy as he cleared his throat. His eyes looked over at Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Kirsten.

"_You _know the one I'm talking about, Father," he said, raising his voice slightly like he was trying to goad the fourteen year olds into asking him what he was talking about. "The top-secret one."

_Top secret?_

Kirsten was about to ask Percy until Ron groaned in annoyance.

"He's been trying to get us to ask what that event is ever since he started work. Probably an exhibition of thick-bottomed cauldrons," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes.

Kirsten remembered the conversation between Mr. Weasley and Percy.

"Was Bertha Jorkins always so hopeless?" she asked.

"Well, she wasn't very bright and was quite a gossip but not forgetful until later on," Mr. Weasley said, furrowing his brow as he began to mull things over. "I believe she started to get worse while she was under Barty Crouch's department."

_This _got Kirsten curious. It could be just coincidence. If Percy loves him so much it probably has to do with an uptight demeanor and plenty of work. _Probably just got overworked._

But something hit her. Someone at the Ministry must be behind my disappearance. She remembered when she was contacted by one of the magical departments saying that they were still able to detect me. That she still had the Trace. _Someone_ was behind Kirsten's "disappearance." And it could only be someone in the Ministry. _Maybe that someone is behind Bertha Jorkins disappearance._

"Is there something wrong, Kia?"

The voice snapped her away from her thoughts as she looked to see Mr. Weasley, Percy, Harry, Ron, and Hermione staring at her. An uneasy feeling settled in her stomach as she placed a small smile on my face.

"Just thinking," she told Mr. Weasley, who in turn did not believe her response. "It's nothing really."

Mr. Weasley let the subject drop and began another conversation with his son. Ron glanced around the table before looking at Hermione, Harry, and Kirsten.

"So, have you guys heard from Sirius lately?" Ron asked quietly.

"Once," Kirsten told him, keeping her voice low. "Told me he was fine."

"Yeah," Harry replied softly, "twice. He sounds okay. I wrote to him yesterday. He might write back while I'm here."

A slight pang hit Kirsten's stomach. She looked away from Harry and stared out at the garden. She remembered he letter that her father sent her. It wasn't a long message. Just one that assured her that he was fine and that she should check on Harry. To make she if he was okay. That was the gist of the letter. Not one bit of the letter sound concerned about her. He didn't ask even ask how her summer was going.

Her mind was reeling with the pang of jealousy that she nearly missed the brown eyes that watched her. She could tell Hermione knew what was going on and it made her uncomfortable. The one thing she hated about Hermione was the way she read her. Kirsten was never use to such a friendship with another girl. Most of the girls at the loathed her. The only one was Sophia, yet even she avoided her most of the times because of Victoria. Kirsten had always been alone. And the years of solitude, with no one to confide in, not even Harry, had hardened her. Concealed her emotions behind a barrier.

The fact that the last year had softened the Kirsten made her a bit uneasy. She trusted Harry, Hermione, Cedric, the Weasleys, many of her classmates, and even her teachers. She learned that she had a father that was still alive, and a godfather who loved her. She learned that, on top of being a witch, she was a Clipse. That she had a darker side. And she learned to break down her barrier.

"Look at the time!" Mrs. Weasley spoke up. "You really should be in bed, the whole lot of you — you'll be up at the crack of dawn. If Kia, Harry, you leave your school lists out, I'll get your things at Diagon Alley. There might not be enough time after the World Cup. The match went on for five days last time."

"Wow — hope it does this time," Harry said enthusiastically, grinning like a little kid who received a large lollipop. Kirsten's lips twitched up into a small smile as she watched Harry. She could, though, still feel Hermione's eyes on her.

"Well, I certainly don't. I shudder to think what state of my in-tray would be if I was away from work for five days," Percy stated.

"Yeah, someone might slip dragon dung in it again, eh, Perce?" Fred said.

"That was a sample of fertilizer from Norway!" Percy replied, getting very red in the face. "It was nothing personal!"

"It was," George whispered to Kirsten. "We sent it."


	3. The Portkey

**REVISED 7/14/11**

"Kia?"

Grey eyes landed on the bushy haired witch, who said her name in question.

"Are — are you all right?" Hermione asked hesitantly. She made to sure to keep her voice low. Ginny had fallen asleep half an hour ago, after questioning her on Jacklay.

Kirsten glanced at her friend before staring at the ceiling. She let out a sigh.

"It's like he doesn't care," she whispered, turning her head to the side to face Hermione. "He loves Harry. That's all he kept talking about in the letter."

Hermione was shocked and Kirsten knew why. Never had she seen her like this. She never opened up to her during their third year. Never admitted what was on her mind. She would just make a joke of it or change the subject.

"Of course he loves Harry but he also loves _you_, Kia," Hermione told her.

"I know…I —" Kirsten watched the ceiling again and let out a chuckle. "I'm acting like a spoiled brat. I'm sorry 'Mione. Forget I said anything."

And Kirsten turned her body on her bed to face away from Hermione. She could feel Hermione's eyes on her but ignored it. She didn't mean to tell Hermione that. It just happened.

"Good night, Kia."

"Night, 'Mione."

* * *

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump_.

Kirsten's eyes snapped open at the pounding. Pain shot through her head and she grabbed her head. She bit down on the pillow beneath her to keep from groaning in agony. Then as quickly as it came, it was gone.

The black haired witch let out a breath that she had been holding and sat up in her bed. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Kirsten placed her head in her hands and breathed deeply. This was the second time she heard the heartbeats in her head that night. Glancing at the watch wrapped around her wrist, she didn't bother going back to sleep.

It was only ten minutes after she awoke that Ginny's bedroom door opened. Kirsten looked up to see Mrs. Weasley.

"Morning, Mrs. Weasley," she whispered in the dark.

"Oh Kirsten, dear, good morning," Mrs. Weasley said surprised. "Are you well?"

"Yeah, just woke up actually," she told her. "Want me to wake them up?" she asked, nodding her head at the two lumps on the other two beds.

"If it's not too much trouble," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'll be downstairs making breakfast."

And she left.

Kirsten got to her feet as soon as the door closed and woke the two girls up. She got ready in a matter of minutes after pulling on a sweater and jeans. The three girls set down the stairs and into the kitchen to be met with Harry, Ron, George, Fred, and Mr. Weasley at the table. Kirsten grabbed two pieces of toast and stood by the counter with Hermione.

"Why do we have to be up so early?" Ginny asked, rubbing her eyes as she sat down at the table.

"We've got a bit of a walk," Mr. Weasley replied.

"Walk?" Harry repeated. "What, are we walking to the World Cup?"

"No, no, that's miles away," Mr. Weasley said, smiling. "We only need to walk a short way. It's just that it's very difficult for a large number of wizards to congregate without attracting Muggle attention. We have to be very careful about how we travel at the best of times, and on a huge occasion like the Quidditch World Cup —"

"George!" Mrs. Weasley's voice sharply cut off Mr. Weasley.

"What?" George asked with an innocent tone.

"What is that in your pocket?"

"Nothing!"

"Don't you lie to me!"

Mrs. Weasley pointed her wand at George's pockets and said, "_Accio!_"

It amazed Kirsten just how much George could squeeze his things in one pocket. She watched on as several small, brightly colored objects zoomed out of George's pocket and made it's way into Mrs. Weasley's outstretched hand.

"We told you to destroy them!" Mrs. Weasley said furiously, holding up what were unmistakably more Ton-Tongue Toffees. "We told you to get rid of the lot! Empty your pockets, go on, both of you!"

During the next few minutes, Fred and George pulled out several toffees from inside the pockets of their jackets and pockets. Mrs. Weasley obviously seemed to think that they were still hiding some more as she points her wands at the two of them and shouted, "_Accio! Accio! Accio!_"

As she yelled the Summoning spell repeatedly, toffees zoomed from all sorts of unlikely places, including the lining of George's jacket and the turn-ups of Fred's jeans.

"We spent six months developing those!" Fred shouted at his mother as she threw the toffees away.

"Oh a fine way to spend six months!" she shrieked. "No wonder you didn't get more O.W.L.s!"

* * *

"So how _does_ everyone get there without all the Muggles noticing?" Harry asked. The Burrow was out of sight by the time Harry asked his question.

"It's been a massive organizational problem," Mr. Weasley sighed. "The trouble is, about a hundred thousand wizards turn up at the World Cup, and of course, we just haven't got a magical site big enough to accommodate them all. There are places Muggles can't penetrate, but imagine trying to pack a hundred thousand wizards into Diagon Alley or platform nine and three-quarters. So we had to find a nice deserted moor, and set up as many anti-Muggle precautions as possible. The whole Ministry's been working on it for months. First, of course, we have to stagger the arrivals. People with cheaper tickets have to arrive two weeks beforehand. A limited number use Muggle transport, but we can't have too many clogging up their buses and trains — remember, wizards are coming from all over the world. Some Apparate, of course, but we have to set up safe points for them to appear, well away from Muggles. I believe there's a handy wood they're using as the Apparition point. For those who don't want to Apparate, or can't, we use Portkeys. They're objects that are used to transport wizards from one spot to another at a prearranged time. You can do large groups at a time if you need to. There have been two hundred Portkeys placed at strategic points around Britain, and the nearest one to us is up at the top of Stoatshead Hill, so that's where we're headed."

Mr. Weasley pointed ahead of the group, where a large black mass rose beyond the village of Ottery St. Catchpole.

"What sort of objects are Portkeys?" Harry asked curiously.

"They can be anything," Mr. Weasley said. "Unobtrusive things, so Muggles won't be likely to pick them up and mess with them."

They trudged down the dark, dank lane toward the village. Kirsten looked around village as they made their way through. The group of eight steadily made their way up Stoatshead Hill without any fatigue as the cool wind brushed against their faces.

"Now we just need the Portkey," Mr. Weasley said, replacing his glasses and squinting around at the ground. "It won't be big….Come on…"

Kirsten scuttled away from the little party and scanned the ground. No one said a word to one another.

"Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we've got it!"

Kirsten's head perked at the direction of the voice. It didn't belong to the group but sounded familiar. Outlines of two tall figures loomed ahead against the starry sky on the other side of the hilltop.

"Amos!" Mr. Weasley said, smiling as he strode over to the two wizards. Mr. Weasley shook hands with the man who called his name and Kirsten eyed the man; with the help of moonlight the hand of the man shaking Mr. Weasley's belonged to a ruddy-faced wizard with a scrubby brown beard.

"This is Amos Diggory," Mr. Weasley said. A smile lit Kirsten's face as she looked at the two. "He works for the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son Cedric?"

Cedric's eyes roamed around the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione with a smile on his face. His grey eyes landed on Kirsten and his smile widened.

"Hi," he said. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all replied kindly while Fred, George, and Kirsten did nothing of the sort.

"Long walk, Arthur?" Mr. Diggory asked.

"Not too bad," Mr. Weasley replied. "We live just on the other side of the village there. You?"

"Had to get up at two, didn't we, Ced? I tell you, I'll be glad when he's got his Apparition test. Still…not complaining…Quidditch World Cup, wouldn't miss it for a sackful of Galleons — and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy…." Mr. Diggory peered good-naturedly around at everyone. Kirsten realized he couldn't see her because she was slightly behind Ron's form. "All these yours, Arthur?"

"Oh no, only the redheads," Mr. Weasley said, pointing out his children. "This is Hermione, friend of Ron's — and Harry, another friend —"

"Merlin's beard," Amos Diggory said, his eyes widening. "Harry? Harry _Potter_?"

"Er—yeah," Harry replied.

"Ced's talked about you, of course," Mr. Diggory said. "Told us all about playing against you last year….I said to him, I said — Ced, that'll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will…._You beat Harry Potter_!"

Kirsten had to bite down her lip to keep from laughing. It was just too good. Her eyes flashed over to an embarrassed Cedric.

"Harry fell off his broom, Dad," he muttered. "I told you…it was an accident…."

She couldn't help the chuckle that escaped her lips and Mr. Diggory turned his eyes from Harry to Kirsten. His eyes grew wide for a second and he smiled.

"Kia!" he greeted jovially, opening his arms. He enveloped the fourteen year old in a hug and let her go.

"Hi, Mr. Diggory," she said.

"Ced, here, couldn't stop talking about you after you left," Mr. Diggory said. Kirsten raised an eyebrow at that. "I know we've talked about this already, but you and Ced should really get together —"

"Dad, she's just my friend," Cedric interrupted his father, clearly embarrassed this time around. Kirsten watched her best friend turn pink and smirked.

"I'll think about it, Mr. Diggory," she told him. Mr. Diggory beamed at her words and she felt the stares of her friends.

"Must be nearly time," Mr. Weasley said, before Mr. Diggory can say something else. "Do you know whether we're waiting for anymore, Amos?"

"No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn't get tickets," Mr. Diggory said. "There aren't any more of us in this area, are there?"

"Not that I know of," Mr. Weasley replied. "Yes, it's a minute off….We'd better get ready…."

Mr. Weasley looked around at Harry, Hermione, and Kirsten.

"You just need to touch the Portkey, that's all, a finger will do —"

All ten of them were able to crowd around the manky, old boot, and placed a finger on it.

"Three…" Mr. Weasley muttered, eyes still on his watch, "two…one…"

In a sudden motion Kirsten's stomach jerked forward and the sensation of speeding forward filled her mind. Both Fred's and Cedric's arms bumped into hers as the howling wind and swirling colors caught her attention. Her feet suddenly slammed into the ground and she felt somebody falling towards her.

"Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill," a voice said, somewhere above me.

After Fred and Kirsten successfully disentangled themselves from one another, Cedric helped me up.

"Sorry 'bout that, Ki," Fred said, grinning like a mad fool for some reason. Both Fred and George had been stealing glances in her direction all morning when there mother wasn't arguing with them. She had a sneaking suspicion that those two realized who she was.

"You know don't you?"

"Yeah, I do," Fred said, giving her a wink and turning to George as they began speaking in hushed tones.

"Thanks, Cedric," she said, giving him a smile.

"They know?" Cedric asked. She raised her eyebrows.

"What do you think?"

Kirsten's eyes landed on her other two best friends. Ron and Harry seemed to be the only ones that had no idea.

In front of Kirsten was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards; one holding a large gold watch and the other holding a thick roll of parchment and a quill. And both of them were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch was wearing a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho.

"Morning, Basil," Mr. Weasley said, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard. The kilted wizard threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him.

"Hello there, Arthur," Basil said wearily. "Not on duty, eh? It's all right for some….We've been here all night….You'd better get out of the way, we've got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I'll find your campsite….Weasley…Weasley…" He consulted his parchment list. "About a quarter of a mile's walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager's called Mr. Roberts. Diggory…second field…ask for Mr. Payne."

"Thanks, Basil," Mr. Weasley said, and he beckoned everyone to follow him.

The group of ten set off across the deserted moor, unable to make out anything through the mist. Kirsten looked back at Ron and Harry, and couldn't help but smile.

_How stupid could they get?_


	4. WEEZLY

**A/N: Wow! It's been way too long since I updated any of my stories including this one. I feel bad for not updating in the longest time but I did manage to come out with this one! It's kind of late but Happy New Years everyone! I am no longer 16 since December and I am now 17! Not such a huge thing though until later this year when I'll legally be an adult! Anyways, I have definitely been hung up on a lot of school work and with the results of studying, I got a 102 on my AP US History class! But now I have to pull everything for the SATs. With that aside, I am pleased to say that I will be updating on a weekly basis but it does depend on which fic I'm in the mood to update. And I have around 4 (including this one) and I'm still editing Kirsten Carlisle and the Prisoner of Azkaban (which is going to have way more chapters than what I originally had put up). The bad thing is that I want to start a Lord of the Rings fanfic.....**

**Thank you to my fabulous reviews from** **SweetieCherrie, Cherrie,** **xXKaira-HimeXx, Jokegirl, Melora, and ****AliceAshleyCullen.**

**Disclaimer: If I really wrote the Harry Potter series I would have no need to write a fanfic because there would definitely be a Kirsten Black in there.**

"Now what did you mean by consideration?" Cedric asks quietly as we walk through the mist. Fred and George turn their heads to look at the two of us like they have been doing every so often.

"Had to say something in order to save you from embarrassment!" I reply, looking up at Cedric to see him rolling his eyes in a sarcastic manner, and I grin.

"Save me from embarrassment?" he repeats quietly, and I glance up at him to find an amused expression on his face.

Slinging his arms around my shoulders, Cedric and I walk in silence for the next fifteen minutes when a small stone cottage next to a gate comes into view. Beyond that, I can make out the ghostly shapes of hundreds and hundreds of tents, rising up the gentle slope of a large field towards a dark wood on the horizon. Before we walk further the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry, and I say goodbye to Cedric and Mr. Diggory and we approach the cottage door.

Standing in the doorway is a man gazing at the tents. From his curious and suspicious stare at the occupied fields, I conclude that the man is a Muggle. He turns his head as we arrive several meters from his cottage.

"Morning!" Mr. Weasley greets him brightly.

"Morning," the man says.

"Would you be Mr. Roberts?"

"Aye, I would," Mr. Roberts replies. "And who're you?"

"Weasley—two tents, booked a couple of days ago?"

"Aye," Mr. Roberts says, consulting a list tacked to the door. "You got a space up by the wood there. Just the one night?"

"That's it," Mr. Weasley says.

"You'll be paying now, then?" Mr. Roberts asks. Shifting my bag off my shoulder, I pull out a roll of notes while Mr. Weasley takes Harry to the side to go over how Muggle money works.

"You foreign?" Mr. Roberts asks, eyes narrowed.

"Foreign?" Mr. Weasley repeats, puzzled.

"You're not the first one who's had trouble with money," Mr. Roberts says, scrutinizing Mr. Weasley. "I had two try and pay me with great gold coins the size of hubcaps ten minutes ago."

"It's pretty early in the morning to have to go through with money after staying up late, but I guess they could've been foreign as well," I say, walking a couple of steps towards the man and hand him the roll. "Keep the rest," I add with a kind smile. His eyes widen in a amazement as he stares at the contents in his hand. And from the corner of my eye, I see Hermione has an eyebrow raised.

"Kia, please, you should let me pay—"

"Please, Mr. Weasley, it's the least I can do for letting me stay over and getting me a ticket," I tell him, and before he can say another word I turn to look at Mr. Roberts. "So I'm taking that some of these people are dressed rather strangely?"

"Aye," he says, nodding his head. "People from all over the world. Loads of foreigners. And not just foreigners. Weirdos, you know? There's a bloke walking around in a kilt and a poncho."

"Shouldn't he?" Mr. Weasley asks anxiously.

"It's like some sort of…I dunno…like some sort of rally," Mr. Roberts says, his facial expression full of suspicion. "They all seem to know each other. Like a big party."

A loud crack echoes in the foggy field and a wizard in plus fours appears next to Mr. Roberts.

"_Obliviate!_" he says sharply, pointing his wand at Mr. Roberts. The Muggle's eyes swivel inward while a dreamy expression crosses his features. 'I guess that's one way to deal with them.'

"Thank you," he says placidly, and hands me a folded up paper. "A map of the campsite for you."

"Thanks," I say, handing Mr. Weasley the map and the man in the plus fours walks beside Mr. Weasley as we set off again.

"Been having a lot of trouble with him. Needs a memory charm ten times a day to keep him happy. And Ludo Bagman's not helping. Trotting around and talking about Bludgers and Quaffles at the top of his voice, not a worry about anti-Muggle security. Blimey, I'll be glad when this is over. See you later, Arthur," the man says, and with a pop he Disapparates.

"I thought Mr. Bagman was Head of Magical Games and Sports," Ginny says, a surprised expression on her face. "He should know better than to talk about Bludgers near Muggles, shouldn't he?"

"He should," Mr. Weasley says, smiling instead of scowling about the man's lack of security, "but Ludo's always been…lax about security. You couldn't wish for a more enthusiastic Head of Sports Department though. He played Quidditch himself, you know. And he was the best Beater the Wimbourne Wasps ever had."

As we pass by tents, I spot chimneys, bell pulls, and weather vanes added on top of the tents. 'At least they _tried_ to make it look more Muggle-like instead of the others.' My eyes are set on an extravagant confection of striped silk, like a miniature palace with several live peacocks tethered at the entrance while another has three stories.

"Always the same," Mr. Weasley says, smiling. "We can't resist showing off when we get together. Ah, here we are, this is us," he adds as we get to the very edge of the wood at the top of the field where a small sign that reads WEEZLY sits.

"Couldn't have a better spot!" Mr. Weasley tells us happily. "The field is just on the other side of the wood there. We're as close as we could be."

"Right," he says, rather excitedly and hoists his backpack from his shoulders, "no magic allowed, strictly speaking, not when we're out in these numbers on Muggle land. We'll be putting up these tents by hand! Shouldn't be too difficult….Muggles do it all the time….Here, Hermione, Harry, Kia, where do you reckon we start?"

My eyes shift toward the pile of pegs and poles spilled on the ground. 'This doesn't look too bad…'

It does not take long until Hermione, Harry, and I figure out where the pegs and poles belong. We finally manage to assemble a pair of shabby two-man tents even though Mr. Weasley got overexcited with the mallet.

My eyes glance at the shabby tents and then to the Weasley family as they have no worried expressions on their faces. 'There's no need to guess that these are enchanted.' Mr. Weasley drops down on his hands and knees and enters the first tent.

"We'll be a bit cramped," he calls, "but I think we'll all squeeze in. Come and have a look."

Bending down after Harry, I duck under the tent flap and my mouth opens. 'Hell, I thought there would only be enough room to sleep not have a damn flat.' What looks like a three bedroom flat, complete with a bathroom and kitchen is before me.

"Well, it's not for long," Mr. Weasley says, mopping his bald patch with a handkerchief and peering at the four bunk beds in the bedroom. "I borrowed this from Perkins at the office. Doesn't camp much anymore, poor fellow. He's got lumbago."

He picks up the dusty kettle and peers inside it. "We'll need water…."

"There's a tap marked on this map the Muggle gave us," Ron says. "It's on the other side of the field."

"Well, why don't you, Harry, Hermione, and Kia go and get us some water then"—Mr. Weasley hands us the kettle and several saucepans— "and the rest of us will get some wood for a fire?"

"But we've got an oven!" Ron exclaims. "Why can't you just—"

"Ron, anti-Muggle security!" Mr. Weasley states, his face shining with anticipation. "When real Muggles camp, they would cook on fires outdoors. I've seen them at it."

'Wonder where he's been seeing them…'

We take a quick tour of the girls' tent, which is slightly smaller than the boys' and thankfully without the smell of cats. Ron, Harry, Hermione, and I set off across the campsite with the kettle and saucepans.

"Ki, maybe Harry or I should hold the—"

"I'm fine, Ron. It's actually not heavy," I tell him, my hand around the handle of the large kettle and they all stare at me. What Ron is trying to get across is true. The kettle is heavy but I cannot feel the strain on my muscles. 'Now that I think of it, I was never out of shape and something was never too heavy for me….I guess being physically strong is part of being a Clipse and another thing Dumbledore left out.'

Now that the sun is rising the mist is lifting and I can see the city of tents that stretches in every direction. The four of us make our way slowly through the rows.

My eyes take in all the sights before me as the campers begin to wake up. A twitch at the corner of my lips happens when I spot a boy no older than two, crouching outside a large pyramid tent. Holding a wand, he pokes happily at a slug in the grass, which is swelling slowly to the size of a salami. As we pass by, his mother comes out of the tent. 'Sucks for him.'

Two little girls no older than the little boy catch my attention as they are riding toy broomsticks that rise only high enough for the girls' toes to skim the dewy grass. A Ministry wizard spots them and hurries past us and mutters distractedly.

"Er—is it my eyes or has everything gone green?" Ron says.

"It's not just you," I tell him.

"Harry! Ron! Hermione! Kia!" a cheerful voice calls out. At the call of everyone's names, I turn around to find two familiar boys, that I have not seen since the last day of term, sitting down in front of a tent with an older woman with sandy hair. 'That must be Seamus's mother.'

"Like the decorations?" Seamus asks, grinning. "The Ministry's not too happy."

"Ah, why shouldn't we show our colors?" Mrs. Finnigan says. "You should see what the Bulgarian's got hanging over _their_ tents. You'll be supporting Ireland, of course?" she adds, eyeing the four of us beadily.

We assure her that we are rooting for Ireland to win and then head the hell out of there before she can tell that I was lying.

"That was pretty convincing, Ki," Ron says proudly.

"Thanks, Ron," I tell him. "I try my best."

"Let's go and see what Ireland fanatics have to compete with," I say, nodding to a large patch of tents up field, where the Bulgarian flag—white, green, and red—is fluttering in the breeze.

Unlike the Irish, they are not covered in shamrocks but in the posters issuing the same surly face and heavy black eyebrows.

"Krum," Ron says quietly as though whispering a lover's name. I raise an eyebrow as I look at the mesmerized Ron, who is staring at the face of a Bulgarian Quidditch player.

"What?"

"Krum!" Ron exclaims. "Viktor Krum, the Bulgarian Seeker!"

"He looks really grumpy," Hermione remarks, glancing at one the posters of Krum, blinking and scowling.

"_Really grumpy?_" Ron repeats, raising her eyebrows to the sky. "Who cares what he looks like? He's unbelievable! He's really young, too. Only just eighteen or something. He's a _genius_, you wait until tonight, you'll see!"

By the time we reach the tap, there is a small queue for it in the corner of the field. Harry, Hermione, Ron, and I join it with two men right in front of us, bickering with one another. My eyes narrow in disbelief at the sight of the old wizard standing before us. Wearing a flowery nightgown, the old wizard disregards the pair of pinstriped trousers a Ministry official is trying to persuade him to wear. 'His odd scrawny ankles look so weird.'

"Just put them on, Archie, there's a good chap. You can't walk around like that, the Muggle at the gate's already getting suspicious."

"I bought this in a Muggle shop," the old man says stubbornly. "Muggles wear them."

"Muggle _women_ wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear _these_," the Ministry wizard states, brandishing the pinstriped trousers.

"I'm not putting them on," Archie replies in indignation. "I like a healthy breeze 'round my privates."

A burst of laughter erupts from my mouth, and I duck out of the queue with a giggling Hermione by my side. As the old wizard emerges from the queue, both Hermione and I enter underneath the flap to Ron and Harry so we won't burst into another fit of laughter.

"Now I know what I'm getting you for Christmas," I mumble to Harry, and he nudges my arm with his elbow. "What? Wouldn't you want to enjoy that healthy breeze?"

Glancing at him innocently, I see a shocked and embarrassed expression mingling onto his face. Ron and Hermione both occupied with filling up the kettle and saucepans did not hear me. I grab the filled kettle and head out of the queue, and Harry follows me out shortly.

"And I know what I'm getting you for Christmas," Harry tells me, his face gracing a sly smile.

"And what would that be?"

"What would what be?" I hear a voice ask, and I turn to see Hermione and Ron are behind us.

"My Christmas gift," I tell them. The two of them look at us slightly confused, but we trudge along without uttering a single word of the subject as the former Quidditch captain of Gryffindor, Oliver Wood, comes over and drags Harry over to his parents and introduces us. He tells us excitedly that he had just been signed to the Puddlemere United reserve team.

"Harry!" a voice yells as we leave from Oliver's clutches. We look in the direction Harry's name is being shouted from but there is no need as the boy who yelled is standing in front of us. His eyes shuffle from Harry, to Ron, to Hermione, then land on me. 'Help me now.'

"Hi, Kia," Ernie says, his voice sounding more deeper than before. "How was your summer?"

"It was great, Ernie," I tell him with a smile, and his cheeks become slightly pink when I say his name. "How was yours?"

"It was alright, but this'll be the highlight of my summer," Ernie replies, smiling at me. He cocks his head as he peers closer at me. "Has anyone told you how much you look like Jacklay?"

"Loads. So many times that I think that I should drop my accent…" I say, pausing and clearing my throat. "And just speak like an American," I whisper, this time without my original accent and into one of an American's, and begin to walk away next to Hermione. "See you at school!"

"Are you trying to have everyone find out that you are her?" Hermione asks quietly.

"People are bound to find out. Specially if we're roomed with Parvarti and Lavender and I do have Trelawney for Divination," I tell her with a smile. " You know how she is with her Inner Eye."

Hermione laughs at my comment towards the Divination teacher we both shared last year, until Hermione decided to drop that class. The shuffles of Ron and Harry's feet soon catch up to the two of us.

"You are Jacklay!" Ron exclaims.

"Any louder and the entire campsite will hear you, Ron," I say.

"But you are!"

"If you can shut up, then I'll explain later," I tell him, and nothing comes from Ron's mouth about Jacklay, but a light of excitement glints in his eyes.

We pass by a Ravenclaw by the name of Cho Chang, who smiles at Harry and Harry spills some of the water in the saucepan down his front. 'Well, he doesn't seem obvious at all.'

A large cluster of teenagers get into our line of sight, and Harry points at them.

"Who d'you reckon they are?" he says, acknowledging the group. "They don't go to Hogwarts, do they?"

"'Spect they go to some foreign school," Ron replies. "I know there are others. Never met anyone who went to one, though. Bill had a pen friend at a school in Brazil…this was years and years ago…and he wanted to go on an exchange trip but Mum and Dad couldn't afford it. His pen friend got all offended when he said he wasn't going and sent him a cursed hat. It made his ears shrivel up."

"Excuse me, but you don't happen to be Jacklay, do you?"

**A/N: Thank you for reading the chapter! Hope you enjoyed it!**


	5. Bagman and Crouch

**Disclaimer: Don't own anything except Kirsten, Clipses, or any other OC's I've created.**

I turn my head to the right where the group of teenagers happen to be and my eyes meet a pair of hazel orbs. Light brown strands flailing all over his head with some strands in front of his eyes; a tan set on his skin as if he's been relaxing in the sun most of his summer.

"Name's Kirsten Black," I say, stretching out my hand and a faint look of surprise crosses his face. The expressions on some of the teenagers turn into interest as the boy takes my hand in his and shakes it with a smile gracing his features.

"Nathan Lockwood," the American boy introduces himself, and he lets go of my hand. "You don't happen to be related to Sirius Black?"

"He just happens to be my father," I say with a small smile and the older boy's smile becomes wider. "How did you guess? I didn't think he was massively popularized by the wizard media in the states like he was here."

"You look exactly like him," he responds, staring at me and my lips part slightly and my eyes narrow. "Except you're a girl and a whole lot prettier," he adds quickly.

'That's more like it.'

My eyes travel over to Hermione, Ron, and Harry. "These are my friends Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter."

At Harry's name, all eyes are on him and several widen as realization crosses their features, except Nathan, who is smiling at Harry.

"You're the one who defeated Voldemort?" Nathan asks, his question receiving several audible gasps from within his group of friends. The way he says Voldemort's name freely has me interested in almost an instant.

"Yeah," Harry says uneasily, but he also seems intrigued by this teenagers free use of Voldemort's name.

"It's alright," Nathan assures him, noticing Harry's unease. "I'm not going to bother you about it. Just wanted to know."

The group of teenagers introduce themselves to us or more like Harry. One of the girls, several years older than us, tries to give Harry her address and both Hermione and I have to try our hardest to keep from laughing. And even more hilarious is the older blonde girl inching closer and closer to Ron, practically trying to feel him up. But Hermione doesn't see it as funny as I do, glaring at the girl.

"Well, we've got to get along and get back to camp," Harry says hurriedly, motioning to water that we are still carrying. And trying to get away from the advancing girl.

"Alright," Nathan says to Harry, and then gives me a smile. "Will I be able to see you again?"

"Maybe," I reply, a grin on my face as the four of us turn around and walk away.

"You still haven't answered my first question," I hear him say. Turning around for a couple of seconds, I glance at the brown haired boy with a small smile.

"That was odd," Harry says, breaking the silence between the four of us.

"Who, the brunette that was all over you?"

"That too," he replies shortly, trying to stray away from any conversations about that girl.

"Yeah, I agree…," Ron says, looking over his shoulder in a cautious manner as if to see if any of the girls are going to attack the two of them. Though I think that Ron is enjoying this a bit too much. "And that other girl…. She wasn't much of a looker was she?"

"Ron!" Hermione scolds, no longer irritated by the blonde girl. "Looks aren't everything!"

"She's right, you know," I chip in, smiling at Ron. "Personality is about five percent and the rest of the ninety-five percent are solely based on looks!"

"Ugh, I'll never get through to the two of you," Hermione mutters as we make it to the Weasleys's camp-out.

"You've been ages," George says, grabbing the water from mine and Hermione's hands.

"Met a few people," Ron says, setting the saucepan down. "You not got that fire started?"

"Dad's having fun with the matches," Fred says, nodding his head in the direction of their redheaded father.

Splintered matches litters the ground all around Mr. Weasley, who looks like he is having the time of his life.

"Oops!" he utters, managing to light a match but promptly dropping it in surprise.

"Come here, Mr. Weasley," Hermione says kindly, taking the box from him and shows him how to do it properly. Finally getting the fire alight, we have to wait at least another hour until it's hot enough to cook anything. So to pass time by, Mr. Weasley greets the Ministry officials passing through, telling us what their professions are within the Ministry of Magic.

"That was Cuthbert Mockridge, Head of Goblin Liaison Office….Here comes Gilbert Wimple; he's with the Committee on Experimental Charms; he's had those horns for a while now….Hello, Arnie…Arnold Peasegood, he's an Obliviator—member of the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, you know….and that's Bode and Croaker…they're Unspeakables…."

"They're what?"

"From the Department of Mysteries, top secret, no idea what they get up to…."

And with that said about the Unspeakables, we begin to cook our eggs and sausages, only to have Bill, Charlie, and Percy strolling out of the woods toward us.

"Just Apparated, Dad," Percy says loudly, angering his younger brothers with his gloating. "Ah, excellent, lunch!"

Halfway through my plate of eggs and sausages, Mr. Weasley jumps to his feet, waving and grinning at the man who is striding towards us. "Aha!" he exclaims. "The man of the moment! Ludo!"

I take a closer look at the man and begin to shake my head slightly as a grin makes a way onto my face. 'He's more noticeable than poor old Archie and his flowery nightgown of healthy breezes.' Wearing long Quidditch robes in thick horizontal stripes of yellow and black with an enormous picture of a wasp splashed across his chest is Ludo Bagman. His large belly, that he definitely did not have back in his old Quidditch days, make his robes a little tight on him but my eyes focus more on his face; round blue eyes, squashed nose where a Bludger must've hit him, blond hair, and rosy complexion make him look like an overgrown schoolboy.

"Hey there!" Bagman calls happily, walking as though he has springs attached to the balls of his feet. 'I hope I'm that active when I'm his age.'

"Arthur, old man," he puffs out as he reaches the campfire, "what a day, eh? What a day! Could we have asked for more perfect weather? A cloudless night coming…and hardly hiccough in the arrangements….Not much for me to do!"

I nearly laugh out loud as I see a group of haggard-looking Ministry wizards rush passed him, pointing at the distant evidence of some sort of magical fire that is sending violet sparks twenty feet into the air.

Apparently, Percy's disapproval of the way Ludo Bagman runs his department does not prevent him from making a good impression as he hurries forward with his hand outstretched at the enthusiastic man.

"Ah—yes," Mr. Weasley says, grinning, "this is my son Percy. He's just started at the Ministry—and this is Fred—no, George, sorry—_that's_ Fred—Bill, Charlie, Ron—my daughter, Ginny—and Ron's friends, Hermione Granger, Harry Potter, and Kirsten Black."

Bagman's eyes immediately flicker to Harry, his eyes examining my friend's forehead before they land directly on me.

"Kirsten, did he say? I was one of the first people to run into the minister after he met up with you last holiday!" he tells me, ruffling my hair. "The last woman I'd known to start up such a ruckus at the Ministry was your mum. And even then you didn't have to step foot near the area!"

The corners of my lips twitch upward, giving the loquacious man a smile. 'Another person who apparently knew my mum.'

"Everyone," Mr. Weasley continues, "this is Ludo Bagman, you know who he is, it's thanks to him we've got such great tickets—"

Beaming all the while, Bagman waves it off as in to say it's nothing.

"Fancy a flutter on the match, Arthur?" he asks eagerly, jingling what seems to be large amounts of money in his pockets of his robes. "I've already got Rodney Dontner betting me Bulgaria will score first—I offered him nice odds, considering Ireland's front three are the strongest I've seen in years—and little Agatha Timms has put up half shares in her eel farm on a week-long match."

"Oh…go on then," Mr. Weasley says. "Let's see…a Galleon on Ireland to win?"

'There you go, Mr. Weasley. Not falling for gambling bit!'

"A Galleon?" Bagman repeats, looking slightly disappointed but recovers. "Very well, very well…any other takers?"

"They're a bit young to be gambling," he says. "Molly wouldn't like—"

"We'll bet thirty seven Galleons, fifteen Sickles, three Knuts," Fred says as him and George pool all their money, "that Ireland wins—but Viktor Krum gets the Snitch. Oh and we'll throw in a fake wand."

"You don't want to go showing Mr. Bagman rubbish like that—" Percy hisses at his younger twin brothers. I look at Bagman to see him take the fake wand with as much excitement as little children opening up their gifts on Christmas morning. The wand in his hand suddenly gives a loud squawk, turning into a rubber chicken and Bagman roars with laughter.

"Excellent! I haven't seen one that convincing in years! I'd pay five Galleons for that!"

"Boys," Mr. Weasley mutters, uncertain of his children's decision, "I don't want you betting….That's all your savings….Your mother—"

"Don't be a spoilsport, Arthur!" Bagman exclaims, rattling his coin filled pockets with excitement. "They're old enough to know what they want! You reckon Ireland will win but Krum'll get the Snitch? Not a chance, boys, not a chance….I'll give you excellent odds on that one….We'll add five Galleons for the funny wand, then, shall we…."

Mr. Weasley looks on hopelessly as his identical sons' names are written down in Bagman's notebook and my heart drops slightly at the sight of Mr. Weasley's face. 'Those two can be so careless at times! At least have the decency to gamble when your father isn't looking so he can't play witness to your mum!'

George takes the slip of paper from Bagman and pockets it.

"Couldn't do me a brew, I suppose? I'm keeping an eye out for Barty Crouch. My Bulgarian opposite number's making difficulties, and I can't understand a word he's saying. Barty'll be able to sort it out. He speaks about one hundred and fifty languages."

"Mr. Crouch?" Percy repeats his boss's name, perking up like a dog smelling something desirable. "He speaks over two hundred. Mermish and Gobbledegook and Troll…"

"Anyone can speak Troll," Fred interrupts dismissively. "All you have to do is point and grunt."

Percy throws Fred one of the nastiest looks I have ever seen from him give to anyone and I crack a grin. 'They are right. He's _obsessed_.'

"Any news of Bertha Jorkins yet, Ludo?" Mr. Weasley asks as Bagman settles himself on the grass next to me and Percy hands him a cup of tea.

"Not a dicky bird," Bagman replies comfortably, and my eyes travel over the man. 'He doesn't seem like he's lying about the poor woman missing…' "But she'll turn up. Poor old Bertha…memory like a leaky cauldron and no sense of direction. Lost, you take my word for it. She'll wander back into the office sometime in October, thinking it's still July."

"You don't think it might be time to send someone to look for her?" Mr. Weasley suggests, looking my way as he tells Bagman.

"Barty Crouch keeps saying that," Bagman says, his blue round eyes widening innocently, "but we really can't spare anyone at the moment. Oh—"

A loud popping noise reaches my ears and I see an elderly man by the fireside. The wizard sends off a professional appearance with his impeccably crisp suit and tie, and his graying hair parted in the middle.

'No wonder Percy idolizes him. He's everything Percy dreamed for.'

"Pull up a bit of grass, Barty," Bagman says, patting the ground beside him.

"No thank you, Ludo," Crouch says, impatience biting in his voice. "I've been looking for you everywhere. The Bulgarians are insisting we add another twelve seats to the Top Box."

"Oh is _that_ what they're after?" Bagman questions, humorously. "I thought the chap was asking to borrow a pair of tweezers. Bit of a strong accent."

"Mr. Crouch!" Percy says breathlessly, sinking himself into a bow that makes him resemble a hunchback. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"Oh," Mr. Crouch responds, looking at Percy mildly surprised. "Yes—thank you, Weatherby."

My eyes blink in surprise and then narrow at the sharp man as Fred and George choke into their own cups, and Percy's turn pink. Upon staring at the wizard, I begin to feel something is not right with him.

"Oh and I've been wanting a word with you too, Arthur," Crouch says, his sharp eyes now on Mr. Weasley. "Ali Bashir's on the warpath. He wants a word with you about your embargo on flying carpets."

"Flying carpets?" I repeat with more interest in this subject. All eyes are fixated on me, one pair of them belonging to Mr. Crouch.

"Kirsten Black," I introduce myself, standing up and stretching my hand out for him to shake. Taking my hand in his, I watch the man's face intently to see his mustache twitch in an irritated matter.

"How do you do, Miss Black?" he asks kindly, trying to let go of my hand but I tighten my grip and make sure my other hand is still holding onto my mug. 'There certainly doesn't seem to be anything wrong with the man…. Maybe Bertha Jorkins really is just lost. '

"I'm doing well," I say, giving the man a small smile of my own. "How about yourself?"

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

The first thud in my head springs pain like the first time that I have ever experienced this damned ability. Taking in a deep breath of air, I close my eyes ready for the pain to pass, though various heartbeats join in from what I'm assuming all around the camp.

"Kia!"

Opening my eyes at the sound of my name, I realize through the pain that my grip on Mr. Crouch is just as tight as the death grip on my mug; his knuckles turning white. And in an instant my whole body feels as if my whole body is being burned by some type of invisible fire as the mug in my hand bursts into flames. Just as quickly as the fire sensation started, it ends and I find myself taking deep breaths as the heartbeats are no longer pounding in my head; leaving a dull pain behind. My eyes meet the startled gazes of the Weasleys, Harry, Hermione, Ludo Bagman, and Barty Crouch.

"I didn't — what the — I'm just going to take a walk," I mutter incoherently, apparently confused by the words coming out of my own mouth. Avoiding the looks on their faces, I maneuver around the Ministry official and hurry away from the group before anyone can come after me.


	6. Black

Several wizards appear with the familiar popping noise and I watch as they pull out their wands and begin to conjure carts for their merchandise. The luminous rosettes for the two teams stand out against the darkness shadowing the entire campsite. The sounds of the Bulgaria's national anthem and Ireland's national anthem reaches my ears as they come from their respective flags. Tiny models of Firebolts are zooming around some carts, attracting the attention of several boys. The magical and fascinating merchandise attracting the attention of all the eager witches and wizards, children pulling their parents this way and that.

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump._

"Damn," I hiss, massaging my temple with my index and middle finger. Walking through the throng of people, I finally escape the buzzing crowd and pray that this time there won't be a fire display. I begin to slow down as I reach an unfamiliar setting, distancing myself away from the hoard of people. Sitting down in a shadowy area, a groan of pain escapes my lips and I let my head fall back against the cool grass. Closing my eyes, I take in a deep breath while I relish the dull pain taking over.

'Why is this happening so often today?'

"You alright?"

At the new voice, my eyes snap open and with enough light from festivities going on near by and the moon above, I am able to make out the familiar face.

"Hey, Nathan," I greet, giving him a small smile. "What are you doing here?"

"I should be asking you that," he replies, setting himself down next to me, "since you're right beside my tent."

"_Oh_?" I say, raising an eyebrow at this new bit of information and taking a look at the tent next to me. "Well, too bad. I'm not going to move anytime soon."

"You don't look too good. Do you—"

"No," I interrupt him abruptly, getting up into a sitting position. "I'm fine. I'm just exhausted is all….really exhausted."

"Right before the game?" he questions. "Don't you have to be super energetic since you're performing tonight?"

"I doubt that's happening tonight," I tell him, while he looks at me quizzically. "Jacklay already told the Minister of Magic that she's not performing and everybody's been informed she's not going to perform."

"I think the Minister's going to grab any look-a-like and try to get her to perform," he remarks with a grin on his face as he looks my way.

"And how would you know that?"

He turns his head the other way, avoiding my curious gaze and looking off to the buzzing crowd in the distance, his fingers playing with the grass beneath him.

"If you're not going to tell me…."

"I'm not," he states simply, the grin sliding off his face as he faces me again. "Are you still too tired to walk around?"

"I'm up for a walk around," I say with a small grin as he stands up next to me. "But I should go and catch up with the others. I kind of left them…"

"Left them?"

Opening my mouth to answer, I suddenly remember that this is a boy that I just met and hardly know. A boy that seems to know things about me when I have no clue who he is.

"Something weird happened," I answer vaguely. The hazel eyed boy laughs at my reply but settles down a bit.

"We're able to do magic," he admits, running his hands through his hair. "I'd say that's weird."

"Yeah," I say, shrugging my shoulders, "but I have my own magical problems."

At my response, his eyes pierce mine as he stares at me, causing me to uneasily shift from one foot to another. Breaking eye contact with the boy, I move my wavy hair behind my shoulders and look at the crowd of people in the distance.

"To make you feel better, something odd happened to me today too," he adds, and this time I can hear amusement mixed in with his tone. "It happened several hours ago…."

"You're going to tell me any time soon?" I ask impatiently. Nathan puts his hands up as if he's surrendering defeat and takes a step over to the tent that we are standing beside and opens the flap.

"Let me get it out so I can show you what it is," he says, entering his tent and exiting back out in a couple of seconds. Upon watching him come out of his tent, my eyes widen as I spot an object in his hands.

"Where the hell did you get that?" I ask immediately, and I notice that my tone of voice sounded harsh. Nathan looks taken aback and stares at me with his hazel eyes.

"What?" he asks and the expression on his face tells me that he is genuinely confused. But I don't bother if I sound accusatory.

"That's my mug!"

His eyes widen as he looks to the mug in his hands and then to me.

"Oh."

"Oh?" I repeat, narrowing my eyes but the fleeting sensation of fire burning my body reminds me that it couldn't have been this boy who caused it to burst into flames. It was more than likely that I was the person that did it. Giving the older boy an apologetic smile, I take the mug from his hand and look elsewhere. "Sorry for sounding so…_bitchy_."

"What's going on?" he asks quietly, tilting my chin up to look him in the eyes.

"The damn pounding in my head was driving me mad and then poof!" I say, ignoring Nathan's question. My eyes look directly in his and then something inside me bursts with both excitement and fear. "_I made it disappear and reappear_!"

The teenager looks at me as if I'm a patient who escaped a mental ward but then something passes in his eyes that I cannot place exactly.

"You did that? But —" he cuts himself off as realization crosses his features.

"Were flames enveloped?" I ask him, and in response he nods his head. Shaking off his hand from my face, I side step him and quickly begin to walk away. "Great meeting you again!"

Slowing down my fast pace after several minutes of weaving in and out of people, I find myself in front of a cart selling an object called Omnioculars. The stubby salesman looks over at me and picks one of them up.

"Omnioculars!" the sales wizard says ecstatically. "You can replay action…slow everything down…and they flash up a play-by-play breakdown if you need it. Bargain—ten Galleons each."

"Then I'll take four," a voice says from behind me. The smile creeping onto my mouth does not leave as I turn around to face Harry, Ron, and Hermione. The bushy haired girl pulls me into a hug while Harry goes over to the sales wizard to buy the Omnioculars.

"You scared me, Kia," she whispers and pulls away so the two boys standing side by side can say something.

"I wasn't gone for that long," I tell her.

"You were gone for hours!" Ron exclaims, expressing his concern also. "You're better now though, right?"

"Of course I am," I say, hiding the mug in my hands from their view. Even with my answer it doesn't seem that Harry and Hermione believe me.

"Great," Ron says happily, patting my shoulder. "Dad sent out everyone to look for you and we're supposed to meet back at the tent in a while."

"So what are we still standing here for?" I ask, placing a smile on my face. And without a moment longer, I grab Ron's arm that's not holding his merchandise and head over to the tent in a quick walk.

"Merlin, Ki. You had to drag—"

"Oh, shut up, Ron. I wasn't even going that fast," I say, cutting him off from his whining.

"Really?" he replies, looking back at Harry and Hermione, who are both jogging to us, "Harry and Hermione are just now catching up."

Turning back around, I see the eyes of the Weasley family members staring at me. 'They're not staring at me…'

"Kia, is that you're mug?" the redheaded twins ask in unison, and the now caught up Harry and Hermione stare at me. 'Should I tell them all or do what I do best and lie?'

From within my ribcage, I can feel my heartbeat increase at a rapid rate as I look at the mug in my hand. The chipped mug falls from my hands and lands with a dull thud on the grass, several more pieces chipping off.

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

The pounding starts yet again and this time it's worse than the two times from earlier. Thousands of heartbeats seem to pulsate at an alarming rate, as if I can feel their excitement pouring from the people. Hot knives seem to drive into my head with this amount of pounding in my mind. I feel a strong pair of arms grip my shoulders and steer me inside the tent.

* * *

**Third Person**

"Merlin, Ki. You had to drag—"

"Oh, shut up, Ron. I wasn't even going that fast," the young black haired witch cuts off Arthur Weasley's whining son. At her fast remark, a small smile makes a way onto his face as he turns to see those two standing several meters away.

"Really?" Ron argues. "Harry and Hermione are just now catching up." Mr. Weasley glimpses at the two but a small object catches his eye.

"Kia, is that your mug?" Fred and George say in unison. A caught-in-the-act expression that Fred and George usually wear crosses her face and her grip on the mug loosens, falling to the ground with a thud. But within seconds the look on her face changes into one filled with pain, similar to when she shook hands with Barty Crouch. A deeply concerned Mr. Weasley rushes over to the apprehensive witch, placing his arms around her shoulders and guides her inside the tent. The eyes of his sons, daughter, Hermione, and Harry trailing after the two of them.

Setting her down on a chair, Mr. Weasley settles down to become eyelevel with her. His eyes widen with disbelief as Kirsten's eyes meet his. An onyx color spills beyond her pupil, onto her grey irises, and spreading further onto the whites of her eyes.


	7. The Potion

**Mr. Weasley POV**

"Mr. Weasley, what's happening to me?"

The frightened sound of her voice causes me to look at the pained expression on her face as she closes her eyes. Placing her fingers against her right temple, she begins to press firmly. I look on in sympathy at the pain that she is expressing and realize what she is showing is hardly the amount of pain that is put upon her on the inside. Her eyelids flutter open, revealing the two black orbs that are staring at me and an uncomfortable realization of the conversation that Molly and I had with Dumbledore begins to play in my mind.

"_As you may have noticed, Kirsten is a very special young lady. Her sudden appearance last holiday couldn't have been any better as her powers are now growing at a rapidly increasing rate," the aged wizard told Molly and I._

"_What do you mean?" Molly asked, concern shown in her eyes for the young witch. Curiosity of Kia's situation allowed me to stay attentive and the image of my children's friend comes to mind._

"_You have both heard of the legends about Clipses, am I correct?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes examining both Molly and I. 'He couldn't possibly be saying that she, Kirsten, __**Kia**__…'_

_With the nod of his head, a small smile graced the Headmaster's lips. "It appears that she inherited her mother's gift."_

"_She does know but she is not fully aware of how quickly her powers are growing and what she can do. With as many people that will be at the World Cup and my presence not there, Kirsten __**will**__ begin to experience stranger symptoms. You and Molly are the few that know what she actually is," the old man informed us, his blue eyes no longer twinkling as he takes out a vial from inside his robes. "If her pupils begin to dilate or change color, make her drink from this potion __**immediately**__."_

"_What does this do to her?" I asked curiously as I grabbed the small glass container from his hands. A light, smooth, silver liquid swirls within the vial, creating a relaxing and calming aura as I held it._

"_This potion was developed from what Alicia wrote down before her death," Dumbledore said, and my eyes looked over at the man in confusion. Though I no longer looked at him as I remember that Alicia used to write in her journal, according to my late brother-in-laws, Fabian and Gideon. "This potion allows for Kia to be in control of her powers and ceases the pain."_

"_Pain? What pain?"_

"_A Clipse's growth period is _very_ painful," he said, a sorrowful expression gracing his aged face. "Unfortunately, Kia's experience is just as painful. Perhaps even worse than normal."_

"_So that poor girl. Poor, Kia. I've never known," I heard Molly muttering beside me. _

"_Why not always have her drink the potion, then?" I asked and the twinkle came back to his eyes; amusement written all over his face._

"_Alicia was behaving rather like a 'plastered man', according to Lily Potter. Though it may be because she had one too many drinks. I advise you to watch out for Kia for the first thirty minutes as she will appear to be careless, and she may get her hands on several drinks."_

Pulling out the liquid-filled vial from my pocket, I take out the cork and a sense of euphoria fills my body as strange, transparent wisps lift up towards my nose. My eyes settle on Kirsten's form and I place the uncorked vial against her lips but a firm grip catches me off guard.

Eyes traveling to my arm, I see Kia's long, thin fingers wrapped around my arm. A certain look flashes in her eyes and I freeze to the spot. Ruthlessness peers from her frightening black eyes. 'This isn't Kia.'

Before any sort of trouble can happen, I tip the contents of the vial in her mouth and the tension disappears in the air as she begins to choke. Quickly patting her back the heart in my chest literally feels as if it's about to explode with anxiety as Kia's body goes limp after coughing.

"Oh, no," I whisper, and I hold the petite witch in my arms. "Is this what he meant by plastered man?"

"What are you talking about a plastered men for?"

Jumping up from the sudden voice, I look down to see grey eyes gazing curiously at me. She reaches for her head and loftily gazes at me and to the empty vial entwined still in my hands.

"I don't feel it anymore," she mutters and a grin slowly develops onto my face. Her light grey eyes have a glazed look to them as a small smile appears on her face and she begins to laugh. Pressing her hand up against her mouth, she tries to suppress her laughter but a new wave of giggles erupts from beneath her hand. My eyes narrow in curiosity at the girl's sudden light mood.

"Ki, are you feeling alright?"

"Just peachy," she says happily, but her brow creases into a frown as she repeats the phrase. She appears to be in deep thought as she stares at off and from the corner of her head, I can see little droplets of perspiration forming on her hairline. A deep, booming gong echoes for somewhere beyond the woods.

Her eyes dart from mine to the entrance of the tent and in an instant she grabs my arm and pulls the both of us outside. I glance at Kia, to see her smiling lightly at the group in front of her. Green and red lanterns are alight in the trees, creating a lighted path to the field.

"What the bloody hell are we all waiting for? Let's go!"

**Kirsten's POV**

My chest heaving upward and inhaling deeply, I watch as light grey eyes stare right back at me. Shutting the faucet off, the cool, refreshing water that I just splashed my face with begins to disappear like how water would completely evaporate after hitting scorching hot pavement. As I begin to get frustrated with the cool feeling disappearing quickly against my skin, beads of perspiration begin to trickle down my forehead and I let out a rather whiney groan. 'What the hell is going on?'

After Mr. Weasley poured that strange potion down my throat I've been feeling _strange_. A good type of strange; for a better and short explanation for it, I feel _relaxed_. This euphoric sense has released all the stress and pressure from my body and mind. A sudden burst of energy has replaced my fatigue and the idea that I have control over my powers surges through my head.

Grabbing a paper towel to dry my face, I reach to dab but the water droplets that were on my face are no longer there as if the water evaporated. My eyes travel down to see a rosy color show through the caramel complexion on my cheeks.

"Ugh," I groan in frustration as I press my cheeks. "Why the bloody hell am I so warm?"

Upon exiting the bathroom, I spot a small group of men huddled together at the side of the hallway in this enormous arena. 'Hmm….'

Curiosity gets the better of me as I walk closer to the group. The thick accent that I can hear from their muttering and the color robes they have dressed themselves with helps me depict them as Bulgarians. They seem to be muttering bets on the game but that's not what spikes my full interest. One of the men seems to be carrying an open crateful of darkened glass bottles. A man beside him has in his hand one bottle that seems to originate from the crate. The men all become silent as they notice that I am standing right beside them. A lopsided smile manages to form on my face as I stare at them and then at the crate.

"Hello, gentlemen."

**A/N: Okay, so you have to bear with me on the whole alcohol part because there is a reason why it's specifically alcohol and it's not cause it's just alcohol and it makes it seem so much cooler. Dumbledore will explain the reason of the potion and alcohol in a future chapter which will help Kirsten understand what's going on. Anyways, I hope you guys liked the chapter!**


	8. The Quidditch World Cup

**A/N: So, this chapter has been one big pain in my ass. I've been trying to come up with the right opening and I had the worst writer's block. But don't worry, I have known how I want to end the Kirsten Black series for several years. I will try to update this as frequently as possible especially with how easily I've been working on the next chapter. And yes, to those of you who love Malfoy, he will be in the next chapter since the gang will bump into him in the forest. But he will be the incredible asshole that he always is... And the relation with alcohol and the potion will be later explained by Dumbledore in future chapters and this isn't going to be a random one time thing. Anyways, I hope you all enjoy the chapter!**

**Oh and thank you for the reviews! **

**Disclaimer: Kirsten, Clipses, and anything that J.K. Rowling has not made up belong to me. And yes, Harry Potter and everybody belong to Rowling.**

Step by step, my feet guide the rest of my body up the stairs to the top box. Well more like dragging my body. The empty bottle in my right hand isn't effective. Besides the fact that I have to actually try and think to keep from stumbling down the bloody stairs because of my lack of balance, the slight vision impairment that I'm suffering, though I'd say it's pretty damn good after drinking one whole bottle, and the mysterious source of heat that has my hair sticking to my face; I feel better than I did earlier. _Calmer_. More likely since the heat is no longer making me create gallons of perspiration.

Entering through the doorway, I glance around and my slight blurry vision captures the sight before me. The box that I am standing in is settled at the highest point of the stadium and situated halfway between the goal posts; witches and wizards greeting one another in this space. I spot the front row filled with the exception of one empty seat. Buzzing fills my ears as I see the top part of the stadium filled with witches and wizards.

"Kirsten!"

At the mention of my name, my eyes roam the area several times to match the voice of the person calling me. The familiar figure of a portly man catches my eye as he looks at me. 'Oh, _hell_ no.'

As fast as possible, I turn back around to leave out the door but my head slams directly into the doorframe. _Hard_. A groan escapes my lips from the searing pain and splitting headache because of the collision.

"Damn the bloody doorframe. Damn them all," I mutter the curses under my breath, holding my head with my left hand.

"Kirsten, are you alright?"

"Yes," I answer, tilting my head to look at the speaker who happens to be the damn man who called my name earlier. My eyes move over to see a concerned redhead adult watching me from his seat. I notice the eyes of the portly man are no longer on my face but at my right hand. Glancing down at whatever he is looking at, I see the empty bottle still in my hand. 'Shit.'

My grip on the bottle loosens as I fling it out through the doorway and walk over to the man who called my name a moment ago.

"Kirsten, how are you, dear?"

I look at the man in disbelief at his casual tone of voice. Several events from the end of term flash through in my mind and anger bubbles up to the surface as my eyes focus on him.

"Are you bloody kidding me?" I say, narrowing my eyes at the man, who in turn widens his eyes in shock.

"Kirsten, I—"

"Don't you _Kirsten_ me," I interrupt him quietly. "You tried to get those soul sucking leeches on me last year. Don't you remember, Minister? Those deme—"

Before another word can come out of my mouth, Cornelius Fudge grabs my arm and pulls me over to the corner. My stomach lurches at the sudden movement almost causes me to crash onto the floor but luckily the man still has a tight hold. At the close proximity, Fudge has to tilt his head upwards in order to stare me in the eyes and I look down at him. 'Hell, I either grew or this man is one short—'

"Kirsten, listen," the Minister of Magic starts off in a whisper so no one else can hear. "I know we have not met under great circumstances the past few times"— I let out a snort and roll my eyes at this — "but I need a favor. Everyone here was expecting Jacklay until she canceled. And now that I see you, you do look like her, I need you to be her for a few moments just to surprise the Quidditch players when the match is over —"

"No," I say simply, interrupting the git. Fudge's eyes narrow as he stares at me and sniffs the air around me a couple of times. 'Now Little Fudgey boy's finally coming out to play again.'

"You've been drinking, Black," he states, dropping the nice act.

"And what if I have been?" I say, daring him to tell me the consequences. The same nasty smirk reaches his face while glaring at me.

"You are in direct violation of underage drinking. You can be in serious trouble for this…"

The words in the letter my godfather sent me swirl in my mind. _Please, please, stay out of trouble. For me, Kia. _'Ugh…'

"I'll do it on two conditions," I tell him. "One, there's no way in _hell_ that I'm going to get in any trouble for drinking. And two, there's no way in _hell_ that I'm singing."

My eyes watch the man react to the requests that I demand in order to take on his favor. The smug expression vanishes from his face and is replaced with a troubled one. I can see him struggling internally as he thinks over what I said. Letting out a disgruntled sigh, Fudge nods his head in defeat.

"Alright," he agrees. "_But_ you will neither disrespect my guests nor I, and if I hear another vulgar word from your mouth again directed at me again…."

"I get it," I assure him, trying my hardest not to roll my eyes and instead a sly smile creeps onto my face. "We'll be the best of friends."

"You can speak in an American accent, can't you?" he asks thoughtfully. 'He _doesn't_ know. He didn't _figure _it out.'

Wrapping my arm around the man's shoulders, I throw him an amused look as I steadily walk towards the group of people he was conversing with before my less than graceful entrance. My eyes rake over the group to see a dark haired man, and three blondes.

"Kirsten, this is the Minister of Magic from Bulgaria, Mr. Oblansk," Fudge introduces. I open my mouth to say something. "No need to say anything…he doesn't understand English," he informs me quietly.

"Now…Mr. Oblansk, this young girl" — Fudge waves his hand in my direction — "is Kirsten Black. Sirius Black's daughter."

As soon as the word 'Black' comes out, the man's eyes become wide and nods his head in understanding; his eyes now watching me curiously as we shake hands.

"At least he understands who you are," Fudge mutters in relief, seeing as how it will not take jabbering and pointing to get the hint of who I am. 'Yes, of course he would after what you said. You complete _ass_.'

"Having a father as a wanted mass murderer can have that effect," I say, refraining from rolling my eyes. Fudge sends a threatening look my way at my comment but he places a small smile as he looks at the other guests.

"Kirsten, this is Lucius Malfoy, his wife Narcissa, and I'm sure you know his son, Draco."

Fudge's voice echoes in my head the names he listed off and I blink several times just to make sure the alcohol I consumed is not playing cruel tricks on me. My eyes flicker from the irritating pest's father to the woman standing right beside him. The way her blue eyes watch mine with a strange expression, that does not include the cold emanating stare that Lucius Malfoy exemplifies, causes me to shift uncomfortably. I move my gaze to their only son who in turn glares in my direction.

"My night," I say slowly, trying to find the right words to say, "has officially become a nightmare."

The sound of sniggering reaches my ears and a smile appears on my mouth at this.

"Kirsten!"

"I can't help myself! Do you not know the rivalry between Slytherins and Gryffindors?" I ask, eyeing the furious man in front of me. "It's house rivalry! Come on…that was _not_ disrespectful!"

"That gives you no reason to insult the boy," he retorts, narrowing his eyes. "Is it hard to be _civilized_?"

My eyes harden as I enter a staring contest with the portly wizard. Frustration building up from the absurdity that I am in but I clamp my mouth and focus my attention on not opening to let another insult flow through. 'Seems that the alcohol has loosen my tongue a bit.' All my hard work of learning to close my mouth from last term, because of Snape's docking and detention spree, has flown out the window. '_Fine_.'

"How has summer been for you, _Draco_?" I ask the Slytherin slowly and calmly, trying to bite back the disdain from my words. The glare from his eyes vanish as Fudge watches the two of us closely, but I can practically see him struggling not to sneer or glare. Lucius Malfoy places his hand on his son's shoulder, gripping it tightly. 'Ha! As long as I'm not the only person suffering….'

"I'm doing well, Bl"— he stops from saying my last name as his father's fingers tighten but unfortunately not so much pressure to hurt actually him — "K—Kirsten. How was your holiday?"

"Quite eventful…" I say, trailing off as my eyes land on two wizards placing bets. My eyes snap back to the boy in front of me. 'He _won't_ refuse.' "How about a friendly wager on the game?"

"Kirsten, I—"

"It's just a wager," I say to Fudge, swatting my hand in his direction. "No money intended," I say, looking back at Malfoy. His eyes actually brighten this time though I can tell it's not with good intentions.

"Ireland wins," he says simply.

"Then I guess I'm left with Bulgaria," I respond smugly, letting a small grin appear on my face. 'With what Ron said about Krum, Bulgaria better kick some ass.' "We'll discuss what happens to the loser at Hogwarts."

"Can I place a bet, too?"

Frowning at how familiar the new voice is, I turn my head to see hazel orb. Blinking several times, I stare at the older boy that I met earlier today.

"Nathan, my boy, where were you?"

"Oh, I got held up at the stairs for a while," he replies to Fudge, winking at me while holding an empty bottle in his hand. I can feel the eyes of the Weasleys, the Malfoys, Harry, Hermione, Mr. Oblansk, and Fudge on the two of us. My eyes narrow as I look between Nathan and Fudge. 'That's how he could tell who I am….' "I think you dropped this," he says, stretching out his hand to show the empty firewhiskey as he hands it to me. 'So much for hiding the evidence…'

"Care to tell me how you two know each other?" I ask, changing the subject and raising an eyebrow at his hand; putting the bottle behind me. 'There's no way I'm going to actually be caught with the evidence. Even if I made the deal.'

"He's my uncle," he answers, smile no longer on his face as I narrow my eyes at him and he leans closer to my face. "Hey, I didn't tell you because if you knew you probably wouldn't have spoken to me in the first place," he adds quietly, his hazel eyes watching me and I cannot help but stare at him for several seconds. Strands of his hair move in front of his face, making his eyes seem more alluring.

"You two know each other?"

Averting my eyes from Nathan's face, I look over at the old man to see him quite bewildered.

"I met her earlier today…when I was with my friends. So did you tell him you're not singing?" he asks, glimpsing at his uncle before looking at me again.

"Wait—singing?" Fudge asks, staring intently at me. "What is he talking about?"

My eyes roll in irritation at how blind and ignorant the man truly is, and I can no longer hide the scowl that has inwardly graced my features. "_I am Jacklay_." The statement leaves my lips in what clearly is an American accent and I can feel the stares of the others in the box.

"I'm sorry, Minister, but may I borrow Kia for a moment?" another voice says. With the minister nodding at the new speaker, a hand pulls me to the side gently and I tilt my head slightly to see Mr. Weasley staring back down at me. 'Shit. I'm definitely going to get it.' The top row of my teeth nip the bottom of my lip while looking at the worried expression on Mr. Weasley's face. 'What's wrong?'

"Are you feeling alright?" he asks quietly, pressing his cool hand against my forehead only to retract his hand quickly. "You're burning up."

My brow furrows in confusion at his concern and remember that this is the same look he has been giving me since what happened back at the tent. The memory of the empty little vial in his hands cause me to look up at the man curiously this time.

"Mr. Weasley, what exactly did you give me?" I ask, using the same quiet tone. The expression on the Weasley's face is a mixture of several emotions that I cannot place. He practically comes unreadable to my eyes and I watch him skeptically since I have never seen him this serious besides last year when he told me about Sirius. A rather far away look to his eyes as he stares back at me. 'What the hell is going on?'

"A concoction brewed by Dumbledore that allows you to control your…" — his eyes wander to the curious gazes that are given in our direction — "_condition_."

My jaw slackens and my eyes roam the man's face to see if he is just joking or if he is serious.

"Yes, Molly and I know what you are, Kia. And I just want you to know that we will not tell a soul," he whispers, his brown eyes staring right into mine. "You're like a daughter to us."

'_I'm like a daughter to them_.' A warm sensation fills the empty pit in my stomach at his words and not being a heartfelt person myself, those words actually mean something to me.

"_Thank you_," I tell him, giving him a genuine smile.

"I think you've had enough excitement with the Minister," he says, leading us to the first row while the Minister and Nathan go and sit down in their seats. As I sit down in the seat next to Hermione, Mr. Weasley bends down to my eye-level and pulls out his wand. "Let's not tell Molly about this…" — his eyes stray to his twin sons — "or the boys."

With the tap of his wand, the firewhiskey bottle disappears. He looks back up at me with a small grin on his face. "Have fun."

And with a pat on my shoulder, Mr. Weasley moves down the row to his seat, leaving me with the accusing stare of Hermione, Ron, and Harry.

"_Tent_," Hermione states, and I nod my head in response. I swear I can see a small smile appear on her face as she shakes her head and my eyes land on Ron and Harry. Both of them still staring at me with a rather awed expression.

"How did you get a hold of firewhiskey?" Ron asks, leaning over Harry to hear my answer. Leaning over Hermione, my lips split into a smile as I look at Ron's face.

"It was pretty easy actually," I tell Ron, who is listening attentively. "All you've got to do is find some plastered Bulgarians…. I swear they'll sell any type of liquor they have…and they'll hand you a bottle….free of char— "

"Kia!"

Looking up at an annoyed Hermione, I send her an irritated look and put my attention back on Ron. "Free of _charge_. Well…as long as you say you're rooting for the Bulgarians."

"I'm definitely going to have to try that o—"

He stops mid-sentence as his eyes stop on Hermione, who happens to be glaring in his direction rather dangerously. My mind wanders elsewhere as I think of what Mr. Weasley told me earlier. 'Both Mr. and Mr. Weasley are aware that I am a Clipse. And they accept that fact….but there's still no way I can tell Harry, Ron, and Hermione…and now with the potion he's given me, I can _control_ my powers for twenty-four hours.'

I recall the time when I first stepped foot in Dumbledore's office; when I met Fawkes. The light bird was light as a feather and I hardly noticed him land on my shoulder until I no longer could feel the pain from when the heartbeats were pounding in my head. The excruciating pain was no more than reduced to a strange calming sensation while I could hear the various heartbeats of the students, professors, and what other strange beings lurked in the castle. _I was in control_.

Closing my eyes at that last thought, I inhale deeply while trying to clear out my mind from any stray thoughts. '_Nothing_.' My eyes open with an exhale and my mouth drops at the sight all around me. It was the blue world that I unfortunately experienced with Malfoy as my company. The pain was even more unbearable than just the heartbeats seeing as how my eyes felt like they were on fire and because of the pain, I had no time to actually bear it for a second to actually see what I was looking at. _Until now_.

An obsidian color outlined what seems to be the stadium with bright white colored figures shaped as humans. The various heartbeats thumping in my mind causes no pain at all as well. I can hear the sound of all the hearts in the vicinity beating, some sort of strange aura surrounding each person to allow me to recognize who they are if I am ever to use this ability again.

Like eyes on the side and the back of my head, I can _see_ the people around in the box without turning my head around. Different statures of white figures all around the box but one odd form catches my eye. The heartbeat of this figure doesn't seem normal as well as the actual shape of the figure. Frowning at this strange thing, I close my eyes only to find the same blue-vision world behind my eyelids. White figures still in place from when I had my eyes opened. 'Whoa…'

Blinking several times, all the while trying to switch off the blue world, I thankfully find myself back in the world of various colors. With the heartbeats still pounding in my mind, I turn around to find myself staring at a strange looking creature, wearing a towel of some sort that drapes its frail body like a toga. The creature moves its hands slightly so I can see its large brown eyes staring directly at me.

"That's a house-elf named Winky," I hear Hermione whisper in my ear. "You were in the lavatory when Harry was talking to her."

At this newfound information, I nod my head but something catches my attention. The rhythmic sound of the heartbeats in my head is like soft music playing in the background that I almost miss the beating heart in the seat next to Winky. My brow furrows in confusion and curiosity as I look at the empty seat next to the house-elf yet the face-paced heartbeat of an individual is sound in my ears. And if I remember correctly, I did see a bright white human figure next to the odd house-elf figure. 'I'm hearing it and I guess I can say that I saw him or her. But I can't technically _see_ whoever the hell this is.'

"Kia?"

My head snaps in the direction of who said my name and the multiple thumping sounds come to a halt. Concern is filled in the brown eyes that were staring at me during dinner at the Weasley's the previous night.

"What's wrong?"

I notice at once that it's not the usual _are-you-alright_ questions and Hermione's eyes are staring past my shoulder at the space that I was staring at.

"How about I'll tell you that later, 'Mione," I tell her, adding to the list of lies in my head that I have to come up with in the near future. 'Maybe I should just tell them what I am…_no_…_I shouldn't_.'

"Everyone ready?" an ecstatic voice calls, and I turn to see Ludo Bagman. With his face gleaming with pure enthusiasm, his baby blue eyes roam the box quickly and meet with the Fudge's eyes. The two men exchange words that I cannot hear and Bagman's eyes land in my direction, his smile becoming wider as he takes large strides to reach me; Fudge following by his side.

"Knew she's Jacklay….owes me ten Galleons…" The loquacious man mumbles incoherently, nodding his head in satisfaction. "So are you feeling any better, Kirsten?"

"Definitely," I answer with a smile, receiving a brilliant smile from the man. He heads over to the Minister of Magic. "Minister—ready to go?"

"Ready when you are, Ludo," Fudge says, patting my back in a fatherly fashion as he sits in his seat comfortably.

"Bipolar," I conclude quietly about the elderly man.

"Ladies and gentlemen…welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!" Ludo Bagman's voice booms out to the eager spectators like a built in sound system.

The stadium is filled with wild screams and applause at Ludo Bagman's opening statement. On the opposite side of the field, the enormous blackboard erases the last message, which happens to be a Bertie Bott Every Flavor Beans advertisement, and now shows **BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0**.

"And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce…the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!"

The massive amount of fans decked in scarlet, most of them on the right-hand side of the stands, roar with pride at the introduction of the team mascots.

"_Veela!_" Mr. Weasley says, leaning forward in his seat and staring down intently at the field. My eyes travel swiftly to where he is looking at only to be greeted by the site of a hundred women gliding onto the field. Their skin glowing as bright as the moon and their platinum-gold like hair fanning out behind them without the need of wind, I can only guess that these are the 'veela' Mr. Weasley mentioned and they definitely are not human. I lift an eyebrow as the veela start to dance, becoming faster and faster in their movements. In the corner of my eye, I spot Harry getting closer to the wall of the box. My mouth drops open and I watch in astonishment as Harry lifts one leg over the wall while Ron looks ready to dive out of the box head first.

"Harry, what _are_ you doing?" Hermione says incredulously to the boy ready to bring the other leg over. Laughter escapes my lips as I can no longer contain it at the puzzled look on his face. Shouts of anger are filling the stadium since the veela stopped dancing, not wanting for them to go to their respected area. And, unfortunately for Ireland, I witness Ron shamelessly and absentmindedly shredding the shamrocks on his hat.

"You'll be wanting that," Mr. Weasley says, tugging the hat out of Ron's hands, "once Ireland have had their say."

"Huh?" Ron grunts, staring openmouthed at the veela, who are now standing along one side of the field.

Hermione lets out a tutting noise as she reaches out and pulls Harry back into his seat. "_Honestly!_" she hisses, exasperated at his abnormal behavior.

"I know right, Hermione?" I say, shaking my head in those two boys' shame.

"Don't let me start on you!" she retorts accusingly. "You were _laughing_."

"Better than being turned on by a bunch of unnaturally perfect women!" I tell her, shooting a glance in Harry and Ron's direction. 'And of course most, if not all, of the men in the stadium.'

"And now," Ludo Bagman's voice roars throughout the stadium, "kindly put your wands in the air…for the Irish National Team Mascots!"

In the next moment, an enormous green-and-gold ball of light zooms into the stadium and streaks around one lap before splitting into two smaller comets, both racing toward the goal posts. Connecting two balls of light is a rainbow and I hear the crowd ooooh and ahhhh and the amazing display of fireworks. With the rainbow fading, the balls of light merge together, forming a ridiculously large shimmering shamrock which begins to soar over the audience. My eyes narrow as little gold pieces are flailing down upon the audience and the shamrock makes its course over us, spilling heavy gold coins onto our heads.

"Shit!" I swear as several coins simultaneously bounce of my head and land on the ground. From several chairs down, I hear Ron's excited tone of voice yelling in glee and turn to see him stuffing as much of the coins that he can into his pockets.

"Leprechauns!" Mr. Weasley says loudly enough for me to hear him over the applause.

"Hell, the midget men are real!" I exclaim, staring at the tiny little bearded men with red vests, carrying a small lamp of gold or green, in awe.

"Shit!" I swear once again, as a tremendous amount of pain fills my eye and I realize that a coin had hit me. 'The hell?' Narrowing my eyes at the damn beings, I grab several of the coins and throw it straight at the one that looked the most suspicious out of the thousands.

"What in the blazes!"

Blinking a couple of times in a row, I look to see Fudge holding the side of his head with his hand and catching the attention of those around him. I bite my lip to keep from laughing my ass off and turn back around before Fudge sees that I'm the one responsible for the pain and the headache he might endure a bit later.

Thankfully the bloody beasts decide to end their damn tirade and drift down on the opposite side from the veela.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome — the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you — Dimitrov!"

A blur of scarlet shoots out onto the field from an opening down below, the Bulgarian supporters cheering on the first member of the team to enter onto the field.

"Ivanova!"

Another scarlet-robed player soars out into the open field.

"Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — _Krum_!"

At the mention of Krum, I follow and zoom in on the last figure, decked in scarlet, with the Omnioculars that Harry bought earlier. Just as I saw in the poster, my eyes spot Krum with his thick black eyebrows and sallow skin; his body hulking over the broomstick like a predator. 'Did Ron say he was eighteen?'

"And now, please greet — the Irish National Quidditch Team!" Bagman yells, and I zoom out from Krum in order to catch the other players. "Presenting — Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaaand — _Lynch_!"

One after the other, seven green blurs rush onto the field from below on another side.

"And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Associations of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!"

Zooming in on the new figure striding onto the field, I see a skinny and bald wizard with the biggest mustache that I have possibly ever seen on any man before. Hassan Mostafa sets down the wooden crate from under his arm and kicks it open after he mounts his broom. The red, leather-covered Quaffle and two black Bludgers speed off into the arena and I assume the Snitch is already loose as well since I cannot spot it anywhere. With a sharp sound of his silver whistle, Mostafa shoots into the air.

"Theeeeeeeeeeey're OFF!" Bagman screams, resulting in excited cheers from the crowd. "And it's Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!"

My eyes widen at how quick the players are going, only used to the speed of the Quidditch players at Hogwarts, with Harry possibly being the only player I've seen going this fast on his Firebolt. Unlike Lee Jordan and I commentating at Hogwarts, Bagman can only say their names at the incredible speed that these Chasers are passing and intercepting one another. I decide to put down my Omnioculars, Hermione doing the same, in order to cheer on the Bulgarian team. An Irish player seizes the ball from a scarlet clad figure, zooming towards the Bulgarian team's goal posts.

"TROY SCORES!" Bagman roars, and the Ireland supporters on stands cheer and applause. "Ten zero to Ireland!"

"No!" I shout, standing up as Hermione dances up in down beside me. Troy swishes past in a victory lap and I unsuccessfully try to grab at him, Hermione catching the back of my shirt as I almost fall off. Looking down at the long fall, I uneasily scoot back just a bit and look to see a small grin on Hermione's face.

"What would I do without you?" I say over the noise of the crowd and the members of the box.

"You wouldn't be able to make it without me," she replies, and I let out a laugh at her witty remark. "Take a look at your friends," she adds, pointing down at the field.

Following her hand, I glare at the sight of the damn leprechauns in their damn shamrock formation. "_Bastards_!"

For once Hermione does not mine my excessive swearing as the Irish team keeps intercepting the ball between the Bulgarian players. And within ten minutes, the Irish team scores two more goals.

"SWING THE BLOODY BLUDGERS IN THEIR FACES!" I scream in desperation, causing many of the onlookers in the box to stare at me for a second. "KICK SOME IRISH ASS!"

Both of the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, realize that the Irish Chasers are damn good and start fiercely whacking the Bludgers in their direction. Finally one of the Bulgarian Chasers manages to get pass the Irish and score a goal.

"YES!" I cheer loudly, dancing unceremoniously at the goal Ivanova made. The veela do the same but stop dancing as Bulgaria is again in possession of the Quaffle.

"Dimitrov! Levski! Dimitrov! Ivanova — oh I say!" Bagman roars. My eyes quickly avert to the as the two Seekers, Krum and Lynch, plummet between the Chasers at an amazing speed. I don't bother to pick up my Omniocular just yet since I'm too absorbed by who can outrun the other.

"GRIND HIS BLOODY FACE IN THE GROUND, KRUM!"

"They're going to crash!" Hermione screams.

At the speed those two are going at I am surprised when I witness Krum pulling out of the dive and spiraling off, while, unfortunately for the Irish team, Lynch slams into the ground with a dull thud. I let out a laugh in triumph, slamming my hand down on the wall as the Irish fans groan at the state their Seeker is in.

"Fool!" I hear Mr. Weasley moan. "Krum was feinting!"

"It's time-out!" Bagman's voice yells, "as trained mediwizards hurry onto the field to examine Aidan Lynch!"

"He'll be okay, he only got ploughed!" Charlie says reassuringly to Ginny, who is hanging over the side of the box, horror-struck at the situation. "Which is what Krum was after, of course…."

"And the bloody git deserved to be slammed!"

"Kia!"

Turning at the voice, I give the portly man a small smile at the incredulous look on his face.

"My bet's on Bulgaria!" I tell him, putting both my hands up in the air. I catch the look of amusement on Nathan's face and disgusting smug expression that's written all over Malfoy's face before looking back on the field. Lynch gets to his feet at last, after the mediwizards have made him chug down a potion, and kicks into the air after mounting his broom. With Mostafa blowing the whistle to resume the game, an explosion of cheers erupts from the Ireland supporters and I pick up my Omniocular.

In the next fifteen excruciating minutes, Ireland has already pulled ahead by ten more goals and desperate-with-a-dash-more-of-panic mode sets in on me. 'I'm going to kill Ron….'

The game gets dirtier as the Bulgarian Keeper, Zograf, decides to fly out to Mullet, who has the Quaffle and elbows her in the face so quickly that I almost miss it. Shouts from the Irish crowd can be heard instantly and Mostafa blows his whistle at the foul.

"And Mostafa takes the Bulgarian Keeper to task for cobbing — excessive use of elbows!" Bagman informs the spectators. "And — yes, it's a penalty to Ireland!"

"Damn!" I swear furiously at the easy ten points Ireland can gain. The leprechauns now form the words "HA, HA, HA!" after they displayed their anger when Mullet was fouled. The veela on the other side furiously leap to their feet and begin to dance. Hermione's giggles reach my ears and I glance at her quizzically. After pulling Harry's fingers from his ears impatiently, Hermione points to the golden robed man on side of the field.

"Look at the referee!" she says. My eyes watch Mostafa, who landed in front of the veela, and is now flexing his muscles and smoothing his large mustache excitedly with his hands.

"Now, we can't have that!" Ludo Bagman says, his voice filled with amusement at the enchanted referee. "Somebody slap the referee!"

In the next few moments a mediwizards comes running across the field towards Mostafa, with his own fingers in his ears, and kicks the man hard in the shins. The kick seems to bring Mostafa back to his senses. Through my Omnioculars, I see that he begins to shout at the veela, who are no longer dancing and are staring at the man with murderous expressions.

"And unless I'm much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!" Bagman informs the crowd. "Now _there's_ something we haven't seen before…. Oh, this could turn nasty…."

And Bagman predicted the right thing when the Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, land on both sides of the referee and begin to argue with him, gesturing towards the leprechauns, who have now formed the words "HEE, HEE, HEE." Mostafa points his finger in the air, telling the two young men to fly again. 'Come on dolts, just get on your _brooms_.'

Volkov and Vulchanov do no such thing, causing the referee to blow two short blasts on his whistle and two penalties for Ireland. The game turns into a blood match as the Volkov and Vulchanov no longer care to keep their clubs for the Bludgers only and Chasers knocking into one another. With another penalty for Ireland, the leprechauns rise into the air again and form themselves into a hand, creating a rude sign at the veela across the field.

"KICK THEIR MIDGET ASSES!" I yell in anger, setting down the Omniocular. And if the veela heard me or not, they do just that. Instead of dancing like they did so many other times, they streak themselves across the field and begin to throw balls of fire from their hands at the leprechauns. From where I stand, I can see something strange poking out from the veela's backs.

"And _that_, boys," Mr. Weasley yells over the ruckus below, "is why you should never go for looks alone!"

Moran scores and I let out a groan at the announcement, though my eyes are still glued at the scene below while I watch with my Omnioculars again. By now the field is flooded with Ministry officials trying to break up the fight between the demonic turned veela and the tiny bastards called leprechauns. A deafening groan goes through the crowd, now catching my attention and I look at the players to see that blood is flowing from Krum's face.

"What the — why isn't that referee blowing his damn whistle?" I demand angrily, trying to find the man. And I realize why when I look at the situation he is in. One of the fireballs sent in a leprechauns way must have hit his broom tail because now it's on fire.

"Time-out! Ah, come on, he can't play like that, look at him —" I hear Ron shout.

"_Look at Lynch!_" Harry yells. I move my Omnioculars to catch the Irish Seeker diving and move them ahead at the direction to see a tiny gold blur zoom ahead. 'Damn, this he's not feinting!'

"He's seen the Snitch!" Harry shouts. "He's seen it! Look at him go!"

"Look at Krum go!" I cheer. The injured Bulgarian Seeker is on the Irish Seeker's tail; blood flying everywhere around him. "GO KRUM!"

Both of them are once again neck and neck as they hurtle towards the ground and I recite Krum's name loudly.

"Their going to crash!" Hermione shrieks.

"They're not!" Ron roars excitedly.

"Lynch is!" Harry yells. And for the second time tonight, Lynch slams into the ground with a deafening sound with the angry veela stampeding over him. But my eyes settle on the eighteen year old, rising into the air with his fist high in the air, the Snitch in his hands; red robes shining with blood from his nose. The smile making its way onto my face stops when my eyes land on the flashing scoreboard.

**BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170**

"IRELAND WINS!" Bagman shouts. My mouth drops open in shock at the turn of events and I feel sudden urge to grab someone's neck and squeeze the air out of them. I almost turn to Malfoy to do just that but my attention is on Ron at the moment. "KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don't think any of us were expecting that!"

"What did he catch the Snitch for?" Ron bellows, even though he's jumping up and down. It seems that he doesn't notice the murderous expression on my face at the moment as a smile is on his face. "He ended it when Ireland were a hundred and sixty points ahead, the idiot!"

"He knew they were never going to catch up!" Harry shouts over all the noise, but I don't bother to glance at him since my eyes are glued to the redhead. "The Irish Chasers were too good…. He wanted to end it on his terms, that's all…."

"He was very brave, wasn't he?" Hermione says, leaning forward to watch him. 'Someone's not going to be very brave when I'm through with him…'

"Kia…why are you looking at me like that?" Ron asks, but he knows why.

"How could you, Ron?" I say, narrowing my eyes. "I put my pride on the line only to lose to the slimy git!"

"Well, you should've never placed a bet with him in the first place!" Ron retorts. "Anyways, I was rooting for Ireland."

"Yes, home of those damn beasts," I say, glaring down at the field where the leprechauns are now celebrating with the Irish players. I hear Ron laugh along with Harry and Hermione.

"Why don't you like leprechauns?" Harry asks, ceasing his laughter because of the look I'm throwing him.

"One of the leprechauns threw a coin in her eye," Hermione informs them, giggling. And the Weasleys, including Harry, roar with laughter at my misfortune.

"Vell, ve fought bravely," I hear a gloomy voice behind us. Turning around to face the second row, I find the Bulgarian Minister of Magic standing with Fudge and Nathan.

"You can speak English!" Fudge says outraged, causing Nathan to burst out laughing at his uncle. "And you've been letting me mime everything all day!"

"Vell, it vos very funny," Mr. Oblansk tells him, shrugging his shoulders.

"And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into Top Box!" Bagman shouts. I shut my eyes momentarily as the sudden illumination blinds my eyes. Upon opening my eyes, I notice that the box is magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands can see inside. At the entrance of the box, two panting wizards are carrying an enormous golden cup, which they hand to Fudge, who is still quite furious at the recent discovery that the Bulgarian Minister could speak English.

"Let's have a really loud hand for the gallant losers — Bulgaria!"

At Bagman's words, the seven Bulgarian players enter the Top Box with the crowd applauding their performance. Looking back at the stands, I see thousands of Omnioculars flashing in our direction and I turn back around quickly, hoping Jacklay's fans cannot notice me.

"Come here, Kirsten," Fudge says, pulling my arm to stand in-between him and the Mr. Oblansk. 'Damn, he never forgets.' Bagman yells their names one by one as they shake hands with the two ministers.

"This is Jacklay," Fudge informs the Quidditch players, whose eyes have all landed on me.

"I prefer Kirsten," I tell them, shaking Volkov's calloused hand along with the other five players. Krum comes up with all his blood and defeated glory and shakes my hand last.

Aidan Lynch enters the box next, supported by Moran and Connolly, and then the rest of the team comes in. Shaking my hand, Fudge introduces me to the Irish players who shake my hand as the Bulgarians did. Quigley and Troy both lift the Cup up into the air and the crowd below thunders with approval, and I find myself clapping for them as well. And with the Irish teams leaves the box to do another victory lap around the field, Bagman points his wand to his throat and mutters, "_Quietus_."

"She vos very entertaining ven cheering for you," Mr. Oblansk adds to his native team, nodding his head in my direction.

"Yeah, you should hear her when she commentates our Quidditch matches," Ron mutters, though it's loud enough for the entire box to hear. All heads turn from Ron to me.

"You commentate at Hogwarts?" Bagman asks intrigued, his voice hoarse. "Why didn't you tell me? We could've commentated together, if you liked."

"It was much more enjoyable actually watching it, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to cheer on for Bulgaria," I tell him, and he nods his head in understanding. "So…. How about that Quidditch game?"

I can distinctly hear one of the Bulgarian players mutter to another, "I thought Jacklay is American."

"They'll be talking about this one for years," Bagman says, "a really unexpected twist, that….shame it couldn't have lasted longer…." —both Fred and George over the seats and are standing in front of Ludo Bagman with large grins on their faces, holding out their hands — Ah yes….yes, I owe you…how much?"

Turning away from that scene, I am met with a rather unpleasant one as cold grey eyes stare at me, a smirk on the platinum blonde boy's face.

'And here goes my pride.'

**A/N: Thank you for reading!**


	9. The Woods pt 1

**A/N: So... school starts tomorrow. It won't mess up my updates but might actually help them since this will be the only thing to entertain me. So I'll most likely be posting up chapters every weekend. I hate those shows that keep saying senior year is easy, great, and fun. Due dates for early college applications are just around the corner and I'll have to go around sucking up to my teachers from 9th-11th grade to get recommendations. And then I'm taking the SAT's for the last time and prepping my ass off for another round of stay-in-a-classroom-for-seven-hours-straight. It hasn't even started yet and I'm feeling stressed out. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. I'll post up the chapter tomorrow since I'm nearly done with it.**

**I'm glad I updated too, Sweetiecherrie. And I hope you like this chapter and the next!**

"Wake up!"

The command leaves the bushy haired girl's lips as she pushes her friend roughly. With the shove moving the young witch off her bed, Kirsten lands on the floor and wakes up with a groan of pain.

"Was that absolutely necessary?" the grey eyed witch growls. Though talking doesn't help her condition at the moment. The terrible pounding in her head and the heaviness in her stomach makes her feel nauseous. And she realizes that she can hear the multiple heartbeats in the back of her mind as if it's background music. Like what she heard earlier in the top box. But that's not the reason for the nausea since her abilities are still in control because of the strange potion Mr. Weasley gave her before the match. No it's because of the damn bottle of whiskey she drank before watching the game.

"Yes!" another voice says anxiously. Kirsten turns her head to see the outline of Mr. Weasley, hovering over Ginny as he wakes her up and throwing a jacket to his daughter. Hermione, who was rummaging through Kirsten's bag after pulling out her own jacket, throws one at the confused witch.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" she asks, Hermione grabbing her arm with one hand and grabbing hold of a groggy Ginny with the other. Kirsten's head starts spinning at the sudden movement and bile climbs its way up her throat while clutching her jacket in her hand. Swallowing it back down, Kirsten gags at the burning sensation trickling down her throat and notices that Hermione has already pulled her outside and towards the boys' tent. Though that's not what catches her attention. Instead of the merry singing from the Irish, screams of horror adds to her pounding headache. Blinking several times to clear her blurry vision, she spots four struggling figures floating high in the air. From a light somewhere below them, Kirsten recognizes the face of one of the people in the air. Arms flailing about in terror is the Muggle, campsite manager Mr. Roberts. A small figure, one of a child's, is sixty feet in the air, spinning like a top while the other two are struggling to pull their nightdresses up from their upside down positions.

"We're going to help the Ministry!" Mr. Weasley shouts over the noise, catching Kirsten's attention as well and she sees that he is rolling up his own sleeves. Fully dressed with their wands out are Bill, Charlie, and Percy. "You lot — get into the woods, and _stick together_. I'll come and fetch you when we've sorted this out!"

All four of the adults sprint towards the a crowd of wizards, whose wands are out, and Kirsten spots several Ministry officials running in the general direction. Besides the screams and yells coming from wizards and witches, who are running towards the woods, roars of laughter, jeering, and cheering come from a crowd of masked wizards underneath the levitated family of Muggles. And Kirsten realizes what is going on. For the most part that is.

These wizards are after Muggles or Muggleborn witches and wizards. They're _purebloods_.

At this thought, Kirsten turns her head quickly in Hermione's direction and regrets it instantly as her head pounds even worse at the movement. Hermione catches the twist of pain on her friend's face and the bumps that cover her friends arms when a breeze passes through. She grabs the jacket from Kirsten's hands and pulls it over her friend's shoulders.

"Thanks, _mum_," Kirsten mutters, looking down at her exposed legs and wishes she put on trousers instead of shorts to go to bed in and wishes she didn't drink. "Do you have a hangover remedy?"

"_No_," Hermione whispers, narrowing her eyes as she remembers what Kirsten did. "And you shouldn't have been _drinking_ anyway."

"C'mon," Fred says, grabbing Ginny's hand and begins to pull her towards the woods. Harry, Ron, Hermione, George, and Kirsten follow the Fred and Ginny into the woods. Looking back at the chaos, Kirsten notices that the crowd of wizards are larger than when she saw them before entering the woods. The Ministry wizards trying to get through the throng of jeering wizards but they seem to be afraid to cast any spells incase one of the Muggles might fall.

Turning back around into the woods, Kirsten finds herself in the middle of a chaotic crowd. The dark figures of witches and wizards pushes her back and forth, furthering her away from her friends and adding to the pain in her head. With the colored lanterns that lit the path to stadium before the game extinguished, Kirsten can no longer see Harry, Hermione, Ron, Fred, George, or Ginny. Add the loud sounds of blasts, screaming, and laughing, and there is no way that she can hear them either.

Taking deep breaths and holding back the vomit that so desperately wants to come out, Kirsten's ears are deafened by a loud blast. A blast louder than any she has heard from all the jumble tonight and screams from terrified witches and wizards erupt from around her. She pushes her way to the right away from the hurrying crowd as the rapid flow of bodies run away from the origin of the sound.

No longer able to hold her vomit down, the grey eyed witch bends over and lets the chunks splatter over the ground. She wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her jacket and spits out the remaining the pieces in her mouth.

"Ugh…," she lets out a groan at the pounding in her head, though it's not as bad as it was when she woke up, and the bile rising in her throat once again. "Never again."

Straightening herself against a tree, Kirsten looks out at the wave of people rushing past to see if she can at least make out if any of them are the Weasleys, Harry, or Hermione.

"Looking for Potter, Weasley, and Granger?"

Kirsten rolls her eyes at the voice and she looks over at the next tree to see the biggest pain in her ass, besides Parkinson and of course.

"No, I'd rather be around you and your awe-inspiring presence," she says, voice dripping with sarcasm. Instead of scowling or glaring in her direction, the Slytherin lets his lips curl up into a malicious smile and she scowls instead. "Have you seen them?"

"Tsk, tsk, Black," he drawls, still grinning at her, "I know which direction they went."

"And you're actually going to help?" the lone Gryffindor retorts, raising an eyebrow and pushing herself off of the tree. A sudden light causes Kirsten to blink back in surprise and after adjusting to the light, Kirsten sees the tip of Malfoy's wand engulfed by a white light right in her face. Her hand instinctively flies down and to her jacket pocket to find it empty. Checking the other pocket, she finds that one empty as well.

"Where the hell —"

"Granger has it," Malfoy tells her mockingly, and when Kirsten looks up at his illuminated face, she wants to do nothing except punch him. His grey-blue eyes scan Kirsten Black's gaunt-looking face, her wavy hair a complete mess and bags underneath her eyes. The stench of vomit fills wafts to him and his nose crinkles in disgust. And if it can be possible, Malfoy's smile becomes wider and Kirsten's eyes narrow even further.

"_And_ you smell awful," he adds smugly. "Christmas _has_ come early."

At a loss for words and not wanting to be annoyed further because of her headache, the irritated Gryffindor inhales deeply and ignores him while facing away from him. Then a thought strikes her.

"Why didn't I think of that before….I'm such a dumbass…" she mumbles to herself. Closing her eyes, Kirsten breathes in deeply and opens her eyes to hear the heartbeats thumping loudly in her mind and she winces slightly as the headache pounds. Behind her she can hear the steady heartbeat of Malfoy and the anxious and rapid paced heartbeats of the wizards and witches from within the woods and beyond. Concentrating on the task at hand, she hears the three familiar heartbeats of Hermione, Ron, and Harry.

"Where are you going?"

The voice is as equally as loud as the heartbeats pounding in her head and she starts moving in the direction that the heartbeats of her three friends are coming from.

* * *

'He's so damn annoying!'

Kirsten Black, one of the most levelheaded Gryffindors towards Slytherins, is beyond pissed. She never really has been this touchy with the platinum blonde Slytherin but there is no denying that she wants to pull his slicked back hair and repeatedly slam his face against one of the trees. The arrogant ass had just explained to her why he wants to tag along. To see if Hermione's been caught by the band of jeering wizards.

"Listen, if you _ever_ say that about her ag —"

But she stops midway as she hears a peculiar heartbeat that she heard earlier. The heartbeat in the top box. The heartbeat of the strange "_invisible_" figure sitting next to the house elf Winky. And it's near.

"Black —"

"Shh!" she interrupts, slamming her hand on top of his mouth. Her eyes snap in the direction of where she hears Hermione, Ron, and Harry and notices that the "_invisible_" man's heartbeat is not that far away from her and the ass at all. Strange enough is that the house elf, Winky. Her heartbeat pounding faster than Kirsten has ever heard the entire night. Peering out with the help of Malfoy's wand, Kirsten sees a figure of a man several meters away, his back facing them along with a small figure struggling to pull the man back. A hand smacks her arm away and she turns to see a disgusted Malfoy, the smile no longer on his face. She can hear somebody calling out in the distance.

"You're vomit is in my —"

"_MORSMORDRE!_"

The wizard turns around because of Malfoy after saying the spell and she gets a good look at him. With the light she is able to make out a middle-aged man with pale skin but the sound of screams and yells ring through the woods breaks her attention. Her eyes tear away from the man and the small creature and up at the sky to see a vast, glittering green skull. A serpent slithers it's way out from the mouth of the newfound constellation. From the corner of her eye, she sees Malfoy's mouth slacken and he quickly distinguishes the light coming from his wand.

"_Avada K _—"

But she does not hear the rest as a body collides with her own and pushes her down to the floor. Her body rolls on the mossy ground and away from whoever pushed her out of the way from the hurtling green light. Unfortunately for Kirsten Black, she is in directly in front of the man who just hurled the green light at her. But her eyes land on the creature standing next to man, a beautiful silver cloak in its hands. Something that she is all too familiar with.

"Master Barty! You mustn't d —"

"_Crucio!_"

**A/N: Dun, Dun, DUNNNN! Hahaha, I sound really lame. I hope you guys liked it.**


	10. The Woods pt 2

**A/N: Happy New Year! I"m so sorry for the delay ... I've been swamped with so much school work and the college application process is killing me! I can't believe I'm going to graduate in June and head to college in the fall. I hope you guys had an amazing holiday in December, though. Hope you guys enjoy the chapter!**

**Thanks for the reviews Atem and Tea, Gazingmoon, and KaitlynEmmaRose! And thanks so much for all the readers!**

***I decided to do this story in past tense...just a little change.**

Everything near Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley was quiet. Well, much quieter than when the riot started minutes earlier. They could still hear the distant shouts and yells through the forest of friends and family calling one another's names.

"I hope the others are okay," Hermione said, feeling her jacket pocket to make sure Kia's wand was still there. She had found it lying on the floor after their separation.

"They'll be fine," Ron assured her.

"Imagine if your dad catches Lucius Malfoy," Harry said, placing himself next to Ron on the ground. His eyes landed on the Krum action figure that Ron had taken out. "He's always said he'd like to get something on him."

"That'd wipe the smirk off old Draco's face, all right," Ron agreed, his eyes were on the miniature Krum as well.

"Those poor Muggles, though," Hermione said, her voice had a nervous ring to it. The bushy haired witch's eyes examined the woods around the clearing they're in. "What if they can't get them down?"

"They will," Ron told her reassuringly. "They'll find a way."  
"Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight!" she exclaimed. "I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just —"

She looked over her shoulder, breaking off on her rant abruptly, as a pair of footsteps reached her ears. Harry and Ron both looked in the direction her eyes settled on but nothing showed up as they waited.

"Hello?" Harry called out.

Getting to his feet at the lack of an answer, Harry peered around the tree to see a glowing light in the distance. He could tell that several people were walking in the general direction where they heard the footsteps.

"Who's there?" he said, louder than what he intended. Still no answer but he swore that he heard a male voice in the distance. He glanced at Hermione and Ron and from the looks on their faces so did they.

"Your vomit is in my —"

"_MORSMORDRE!"_

Something enormous and green erupted from the darkness and in a haze of green smoke, the thing rose higher and higher into the air.

"What the —?" Ron gasped; his eyes were glued on the thing in the air and getting to his feet. Staring down at them from the sky like a constellation was a giant skull made of what looked like emerald stars, a snake protruded from its mouth like a tongue.

The wood around them erupted with screams all too suddenly and the light in the distance disappeared in seconds. Harry scanned the area that was illuminated earlier but could only make out vaguely distinct shapes.

"Who's there?" he repeated, trying to move forward but Hermione had a firm hold on him by his jacket collar.

"Harry, come on, _move_!" she hissed anxiously. His eyes landed on Hermione who was tugging him backward.

"What's the matter?" he asked, puzzled as to why the witch was terrified.

"It's the Dark Mark, Harry!" Hermione moaned, pulling him in the opposite direction as much as she could, while Ron was picking up his Krum action figure. "You-Know-Who's sign!"

"_Voldemort's_ —?"

But he stopped as a roaring sound reached his ears and a green jet of light appeared through the trees. The tree crumbled into ashes at the direct hit and Harry swore that his heart skipped a beat. Somewhere, sometime in his past, Harry had seen that same green jet of light before. It seemed that Hermione saw the jet of light and realized how close it was.

"Harry, come _on_!"

Harry complied with Hermione's pleading and all three of them started their way across the clearing. They stopped in their tracks when a blood curdling scream reached their ears. It was the loudest they have heard tonight.

All three of their heads whirled around but before they can take another step, a series of popping noises reached their ears, signaling the arrival of twenty wizards surround them. The agonizing scream had not died down whatsoever and it seemed that the wizards paid no attention as their wands were pointed right at the three of them.

"DUCK!" Harry yelled. He pulled down Ron and Hermione to the ground in an instant.

"_STUPEFY!" _

Beams of red light flashed across and over the trio toward random sections of the woods, bouncing off tree trunks and redirected toward the dark area.

"Stop!" another voice yelled over the countless spells. "STOP! _That's my son!_"

The breeze caused by the spells died down and Harry, Ron, and Hermione lifted their heads from the ground and saw a terrified Mr. Weasley. Harry noticed that the loud scream was gone.

"Ron — Harry" — his voice sounded shaky —"Hermione —are you all right?"

"Out of the way, Arthur," a curt voice demanded.

Looking up at the new speaker, Harry got to his feet to face Mr. Crouch and the other Ministry wizards.

"Which one of you did it?" Mr. Crouch snapped, expressing outrage with his wand pointed at Ron. His eyes darted from Harry to Ron to Hermione. "Which of you conjured the Dark Mark?"

"We didn't do that!" Harry replied quickly.

"We didn't do anything!" Ron told them defiantly, rubbing his elbow and looking at his father. "What did you want to attack us for?"

"Do not lie, sir!" Mr. Crouch shouted, his eyes practically popping out from his eye sockets. "You have been discovered at the scene of the crime!"

"Barty," a witch whispered, "they're kids, Barty, they'd never have been able to —"

"Where did the Mark come from, you three?" Mr. Weasley asked, stepping in before any other wizards or witches could say anything else to the three teenagers.

"Over there," Hermione responded shakily, pointing at the place where they heard the voices and where the light was shining. "There was a light over there behind the trees…there was more than one person….but one shouted words — an incantation…and then there was a green light…and then a terrible scream…."

"Oh, stood over there, did they?" Mr. Crouch retorted, his eyes turned on Hermione with disbelief written across his face. "Said an incantation, did they? You seem very well informed about how that Mark is summoned, missy —"

The other Ministry officials looked in the direction where Hermione pointed.

"We're too late," the witch in the woolen dressing gown said, shaking her head. "They'll have Disapparated."

"I don't think so," another wizard remarked. This time the voice was familiar to the trio as they recognized him to be Amos Diggory. "Our Stunners went right through those trees… There's a good chance we got them…."

"Amos, be careful!" a Ministry wizard warned him as Mr. Diggory raised his wand and marched across the clearing and through the trees.

**Kirsten POV**

My bones were on _fire_. It stretched all along my body and it wouldn't stop spreading. Hours seemed to pass as I tried to get rid of the pain. The blades of knives and scalpels drew across my head and torso in directions. My entire body seemed to be cut and shredded into pieces.

I couldn't hear a single thing. Not even my screams.

I couldn't see a single thing. All I wanted to see was death. I wanted the pain to go away. I wanted someone to end this. I didn't want to live anymore.

I wanted to die.

The immense pain was lifted and I could no longer feel the sharp incisions that cut through my body. I couldn't feel the fire spreading along my body. Instead a dull ache was all I felt. My breaths were in quick gasps since I tried breathing in all the air I could get.

I was still shrouded in darkness but I felt safer than I ever was, clinging onto something warm. That something was holding onto me as well. I could hear a heartbeat thumping rapidly against my head.

"_Merlin's Beard!_"

The loud voice reached my ears and I clenched a handful of fabric in my hands.

"Is she alright?"

The person holding onto me muttered something back to the loud voice. I didn't bother to hear as I nestled my head further into the warmth and fell into a deep sleep.

**A/N: Thanks for reading the chapter!**


	11. Lockhart and Longbottom

**A/N: I decided to add something here to make the chapter less choppy. I'm currently typing up the next chapter so it'll be out soon! Enjoy the chapter!**

"Where the hell am I?"

Double doors caught my eye that had a plaque that read Janus Thickey ward. _Ward? I'm in some type of hospital…?_

The double doors opened and a motherly looking woman looked at me with wide eyes.

"Kirsten! You're supposed to be in bed, dear!" she said, grabbing hold of my arm with a smile. My mouth dropped open in confusion. "I can't believe you're awake!"

"I — what? Where am I?"

"You are on the fourth floor of Saint Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," she told me, a smile still on her face. I give her a small smile in return only to make sure the woman wouldn't attack me out of nowhere. _She does look a bit psychotic_.

But before another word could be said, another figure emerged from within the ward. He was a handsome man with a thick head of wavy blond hair, bright blue eyes, and a broad smile that revealed dazzlingly white teeth.

I tried to take a step back away from the man but the woman held onto my arm tight.

"It's alright, Kirsten. This is Gilderoy Lockhart!" she said, beaming fondly at him. "He was rather well known some years ago…would you mind coming with me to put him back. He's in a closed ward so I should make sure he gets back since the door's usually locked. He's not dangerous. He's more of a danger to himself, bless him….Doesn't know who he is, wanders off and can't remember how to get back…."

"I can walk on my own," I tell her, relieved when she let go of my arm and held on tight to Gilderoy Lockhart. The man's name seemed familiar to me. Maybe something Harry, Ron, and Hermione might've once said. _The Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione!_

Memories started to flood my mind_. The Quidditch World Cup, the attack on the Muggles, the woods, Malfoy, the strange mark in the sky, the man, Winky_ —

My thoughts were interrupted as I entered the room. Beds were placed around the room, furniture and belongings gave the room a more homely effect; compared to the room where I woke up in not too long ago. A large curtain covered a section of the room in the corner.

"This is a long-term residence ward," the woman informed me. She settled Lockhart in his bed and she looked back at me. "Luckily, your condition was not as severe or permanent than everyone else in here.

"But we should be getting you back to your room, dear. Your godfather was planning on staying the night with you."

We made our way to door, which was located near the curtained off section, when the curtains parted. My eyes widened as they landed on the young boy. Neville Longbottom.

"Mrs. Longbottom, leaving so soon?"

The old witch standing next to Neville, who must've been Neville's grandmother, nodded her head. A familiar looking getup was what the old witch was wearing that I remembered on a boggart Snape almost a year ago.

"Yes, Frank and Alice have both fallen asleep," she said to the witch beside me.

"Hey, Neville."

Neville's eyes shot up and his eyes widened as he looked me up and down. I looked down at what I was wearing to find the same looking lilac gown that Lockhart was wearing. All three pairs of eyes were on me.

"A friend of yours, Neville?" the old witch asked her grandson, her eyes did not leave me. "Yes, I know who you are…. Neville speaks highly of you and your other friends."

"Thanks," I said, glancing at Neville. His eyes looked away and his face turned a shade of purple as I shook hands with his grandmother.

"I suppose you are feeling well?" she asked me. I nodded my head and she smiled. "It must have been terrible, dear. Your condition was all over the Daily Prophet. That Rita Skeeter … pmft!"

"I was in the Daily Prophet?" I asked, wanting some answers. _The hell? _

"Of course," she answered. "What happened at the Quidditch World Cup was catastrophic. With You-Know-Who's Mark in the sky and you being tortured with the Cruciatus Curse, almost everybody in the wizarding world knows what happened. The Ministry has a lot to deal with."

My mouth opened a little in shock as I processed the words. _Voldemort's sign was in the air? So that must mean_…

"He's Voldemort's follower," I whispered to myself, but I noticed that Neville heard. His eyes locked onto mine before he looked back at the floor again.

"Neville, why are you quiet, dear?" Mrs. Longbottom asked. Neville shrugged, his shoulders slumped as if he didn't want to be seen and she glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. "I guess it is late then. It was very nice to have met you, dear. Perhaps some other time when it's not as late."

His grandmother gave me one last smile and strode past us and walked out of the door and Neville did the same after he glanced at me.

"We should head back to your ward, Kirsten," the motherly witch said. I saw two figures lying on their beds sleeping and I understood Neville's odd behavior. _They must be his parents…_

So many questions were whirling through my mind after that short run in with Neville and his grandmother. But all of them went back to one question: Why were his parents in Saint Mungo's?

I entered my room and I decided to put away the string of questions away until I would see Neville at Hogwarts upon seeing who was in the room.

"Hello, Professor."

A small smile crept onto my lips as my eyes watched the aged wizard before me. His blue eyes twinkled and he smiled in return at my greeting.

"Hello, Kia," Professor Dumbledore said, settling down on edge of the bed. Before I could say another word, a pair of arms enveloped me and hugged me tight.

"Thank God you're alright," a familiar voice muttered. I couldn't help the full blown smile that reached my lips. The arms loosened and the face of my godfather greeted me.

"I'll leave you three, then," the witch said, closing the door behind her.

"How are you feeling?"

"I feel fine," I told Remus reassuringly. He nodded his head and looked at Dumbledore. "So… did that man in the forest get caught?"

At my question both of them looked at me with alert eyes. It seemed as if they didn't have any idea what I was talking about.

"Man? Kia, what man?" Remus asked. _So they didn't catch him…he's still on the loose and unknown too._

"There was a man in forest and he was in the Top Box…I think…Nobody could see him during the match. But I saw him in the Box…well, I _heard_ him," I said, both men nodded in understanding, though Remus looked uneasy and Dumbledore no longer had the twinkle in his eyes. "He was sitting next to that house-elf, Winky… and Winky was standing next to him in the forest with Malfoy and me."

"And was there a name for this man?" Dumbledore asked. For the first time, and definitely not the last of many, Dumbledore looked worried.

"Yeah, the elf called him Master Barty."


	12. Aboard the Hogwarts Express

**A/N: So this chapter may seem a bit boring, but that's because this chapter sets up for the next couple of chapters. By the way, I'm slowly revising the chapters in Kirsten Carlisle and the Prisoner of Azkaban so some of the things in the things in this story will make sense when I clear that up. Enjoy the chapter.**

**Thanks KaitlynEmmaRose, .girl, and all my other readers. I really appreciate it!**

"Kia!"

The loud shriek caused the black haired witch to turn over, grumbling at the lack of sleep. It felt as if she just laid her head down on the pillow. She could hear the footsteps rushing along the stairs and was not surprised to hear the door open.

"'Mione, Ginny, what the bloody hell were you — Kia!"

Four pairs of eyes were on the teenager, who was now turning her head at her friends. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of them gaping at her from where she laid.

"It is only seven-thirty. _Please let me get some sleep_."

Silence followed until the bushy haired witch decided to opened her mouth.

"Actually, Kia, it's nine-fifteen," she said, breaking the horrible news.

The exhausted teenager watched them through hazy eyes while mentally cursing at herself. _I knew I should have went home with Remus…_

"Ugh…"

"Kia, when did you _get_ here?"

"I got here a two hours ago, Ron," she replied, pushing herself up and running a hand through her hair. Her stomach grumbled with hunger and she got out of bed, rubbing her eyes with her hands. "D'you eat breakfast yet?"

"Yeah, there's some breakfast downstairs. Ginny and Hermione haven't eaten yet either," Harry added. Kia's eyes landed on her two friends who were still wearing their nightgowns. She either wasn't bothered by her friends' incessant staring or she was very good at hiding it.

A smile stretched onto Kirsten's face as she moved past her friends and down the staircase not bothering to clean herself up, considering she had already done so in the hospital several hours before.

"Good morning, dear. Did you get some sleep?" the redheaded woman asked, catching the teenager when she walked into the kitchen.

"Some," Kia replied, giving Mrs. Weasley a grin settling herself at the kitchen table. Her eyes settled on four siblings on the table, two pairs of eyes widened with shock at her appearance. "Good morning."

"Morning, Kia," Charlie greeted, smiling from behind his mug. The oldest Weasley brother repeated the same words with a similar smile on his face. However, George and Fred shockingly decided to keep their eyes wide and mouths open as they stared at her. Mrs. Weasley placed a plate full of food in front of Kirsten and she dug in as Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny bustled in; the two girls carrying their trunks.

Grey eyes met blue, brown, and green and with a nod of her head, Kia signaled that she would explain everything on the train.

**Kirsten's POV**

"I might be seeing you all sooner than you think," Charlie said, grinning as he hugged Ginny goodbye. He pulled me into a hug and after pulling away, I watched him curiously.

"Why?" Fred asked keenly.

"You'll see," Charlie replied. "Just don't tell Percy I mentioned it…it's 'classified information, until such time as the Ministry sees fit to release it,' after all."

Now _that_ got me interested. _Maybe I should've bothered Fudge during the Quidditch match._ I gave Bill a hug and was not surprised to see a grin on his face as well.

"Yeah, I sort of wish I were back at Hogwarts this year," Bill said, watching the train with a wistful expression.

"_Why?_" George asked impatiently.

"You're going to have an interesting year," Bill added, his eyes twinkling. "I might even get time off to come and watch a bit of it…"

"A bit of _what_?" Ron asked.

Before either Bill or Charlie could tell us anything, the gleaming scarlet steam engine's whistle blew, and Mrs. Weasley scurried us over to the train doors.

"Thanks for having us to stay, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said as we climbed on board. I closed the door and Ron, Fred, George, Ginny, Hermione, Harry, and I leaned out of the windows.

"Yeah, thanks for everything, Mrs. Weasley," Harry told the redheaded mother.

"_Thank you_," I said, smiling at her.

"Oh it was my pleasure, dears," Mrs. Weasley said. "I'd invite you for Christmas, but…well, I expect you're all going to want to stay at Hogwarts, what with…one thing and another."

"Mum!" Ron said, irritated at the lack of information she was giving us. It was bad enough his oldest brothers were doing it.

"You'll find out this evening, I expect," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling at us all. "It's going to be very exciting — mind you, I'm very glad they've changed the rules —"

"What rules?" Harry, Ron, Fred, and George said in unison. As much as I hated to be kept in the dark, it was kind of amusing watching the four of them get frustrated.

"I'm sure Professor Dumbledore will tell you….Now, behave, won't you? _Won't _you, Fred? And you, George?"

The pistons hissed loudly and the train began to move.

"Tell us what's happening at Hogwarts!" Fred bellowed out of the window. "What rules are they changing?"

Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie only smiled and waved as the train furthered our distance and the three Disapparated.

Hermione, Ron, Harry, and I went back to the compartment we had placed our belongings in before saying goodbye to Mrs. Weasley, Bill, and Charlie. I sat down next to the window and leaned my head back against the seat. Rain splattered against the window in the compartment, not allowing me to see anything beyond blurred objects. _At least I might get some sleep on the train ride._

However, Pigwidgeon decided against my sleeping as he started to hoot excitedly.

"Ron —"

I didn't have to finish my sentence when Ron opened his trunk, pulled out his maroon dress robes, which he was talking about to me in the car ride to King's Cross, and flung them over Pigwidgeon's cage to muffle the noise. I flashed Ron a smile at his distress and he returned the gesture mockingly.

"Bagman wanted to tell us what's happening at Hogwarts," he said grumpily, sitting down between the window and Harry. "At the World Cup, remember? But my own mother won't say. Wonder what —"

"Shh!" Hermione interrupted Ron from beside me. She pressed her finger to her lips and pointed towards the compartment next to ours.

"…Father actually considered sending me to Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts, you know. He knows the headmaster, you see. Well, you know his opinion of Dumbledore — the man's such a Mudblood-lover — and Durmstrang doesn't admit that sort of riffraff. But Mother didn't like the idea of me going to school so far away. Father says Durmstrang takes a far more sensible line that Hogwarts about the Dark Arts. Durmstrang students actually _learn_ them, not just the defense rubbish we do…."

My eyes narrowed at the insolent words that drifted into our compartment. Hermione closed the compartment door, blocking out the git's voice.

"So he thinks Durmstrang would have suited him, does he?" she said angrily. "I wish he _had_ gone, then we wouldn't have to put up with him."

_Damn right._

"Durmstrang's another wizarding school?" Harry asked. I remembered Hermione talking about wizarding schools around the world last year in our dormitory, when both Ron and Hermione were fighting.

_The positive aspect of having the brightest witch in our year as a best friend._

"Yes," Hermione replied, "and it's got a horrible reputation. According to _An Appraisal of Magical Education in Europe_, it puts a lot of emphasis on the Dark Arts."

"I think I've heard of it," Ron said vaguely. "Where is it? What country?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows at Ron's question. "Well, nobody knows, do they?"

"Er — why not?" Harry asked.

"There hidden," I told Harry. Both him and Ron stared at me with a disbelieving look. "Hermione was going on about it last term," I added, and they both nodded their heads in understanding.

"There's traditionally been a lot of rivalry between all the magic schools. Durmstrang and Beauxbatons like to conceal their whereabouts so nobody can steal their secrets," Hermione explained matter-of-factly.

"Come off it," Ron said, starting to laugh. "Durmstrang's got be about the same size as Hogwarts — how are you going to hide a great big castle?"

"But Hogwarts _is_ hidden," Hermione said surprised by their lack of knowledge about Hogwarts. I smirked and looked to the window to try and see past the splattering rain for any type of scenery. "Everyone knows that…well, everyone who's read _Hogwarts, A History_, anyway."

"Just you, then," Ron told her. "So go on — how d'you hide a place like Hogwarts?"

_Ron…I thought you were raised in the wizarding world…_

"It's bewitched," Hermione said. "If a Muggle looks at it, all they see is a moldering old ruin with a sign over the entrance saying DANGER, DO NOT ENTER, UNSAFE."

"So Durmstrang'll just look like a ruin to an outsider too?"

"Maybe," Hermione said, "or it might have Muggle-repelling charms on it, like the World Cup stadium. And to keep foreign wizards from finding it, they'll have made it Unplottable —"

"Come again?"

"Well, you can enchant a building so it's impossible to plot on a map, can't you?"

"Er…if you say so," Harry said, not quite getting a hold of what Hermione said. And it looks as if Ron didn't either.

"But I think Durmstrang must be somewhere in the far north," Hermione said thoughtfully. "Somewhere very cold, because they've got fur capes as part of their uniforms."

"Ah, think of the possibilities," Ron said dreamily. "It would've been so easy to push Malfoy off a glacier and make it look like an accident….Shame his mother likes him…."

A chuckle escaped my lips at that comment, but at the mention of Malfoy's name triggered a series of thoughts and questions not only in my mind. I felt three pairs of eyes staring at me.

"Kia…what happened?"

I watched my three best friends cautiously. I didn't want to tell them too much in case they might get suspicious. I didn't understand why I wanted to keep this from them except a nagging feeling. As if I couldn't trust them. But it was ridiculous to ever think that. I trusted these three with my life. _But why can't I tell them?_

"Malfoy was taunting me about you three leaving me," I said, gaining looks of confusion from the two boys, "after we separated, of course. He told me he knew where you went, so we both went off further in the woods."

"And you went off with the git?" Ron asked incredulously. "I thought I taught you better."

A smile crept onto my face at his words and I couldn't help the chuckle that left my throat. I looked away from the three pairs of eyes and stared out the rain-splattered window.

"We saw this person in the woods and he yelled out something with a wand pointed to the sky…too bad Malfoy opened his damn mouth which cause the man turned around and…" I furrowed my brow in frustration trying to push back the memory of agonizing pain and trying to remember what happened beforehand. It has been over a week since the World Cup. "He sent a curse our way…it was a jet of green light…_Avada Kedavra_, I think —"

A gasp broke my rambling and I turned my head to see Hermione's hands clapped over her mouth, and Ron with his mouth hanging open.

"What?"

"_What_? What do you mean —" Hermione rambled, breaking off as she saw the confusion on my face. I glanced at Harry to see him with a curious look as well.

_At least I'm not the only clueless one._

"Kia…that curse…it's the Killing Curse," Hermione said, letting out a shaky breath.

I felt my jaw drop slightly and I had no plan on composing myself. My eyes were still on the girl beside me, who was watching me with widened eyes herself.

"How did you _survive_ that?" Ron asked, astonished.

_Oh my God._

"He saved my life," I mumbled, more to myself than to the others. However, they seemed to hear. _Maybe he isn't as bad as I thought. _If I thought Harry and Ron's mouths could drop no lower, then they certainly did.

"_Malfoy_?" both Harry and Ron said in unison.

"He pushed me out of the way…"

Silence seemed to pass by and the only sounds that could be heard were Pigwidgeon's muffled hoots and the pit-pattering of the rain hitting the window. I could tell that Ron and Harry didn't want to discuss the fact that Malfoy had saved my life.

"So, Jacklay," Harry spoke up, "why didn't you sing at the World Cup?"

I couldn't help but smile and roll my eyes at the name and the question.

"I didn't want to give Fudge the satisfaction, Harry," I told him.

"I can't believe you didn't tell us, though," Ron said, glancing at Hermione. "And you knew!"

Hermione scoffed at his accusation, rolling her eyes. "And you call yourselves Kia's friends. How could you _not_ tell it was her!"

"If she was our friend, then she'd at least _tell_ us," Ron retorted. I could tell that Ron and Hermione were about to start their daily Hogwarts routine of arguing.

"Please, don't start arguing _until_ we get to Hogwarts," I said, leaning back into my seat and closing my eyes. "And, please, no repeat of last term."

I heard the compartment door slide open and two pairs of footsteps shuffled inside. Cracking an eye open, I saw three fourth year Gryffindor boys, Dean, Seamus, and Neville. Both Seamus and Dean asked how I was feeling. _I guess the healer wasn't kidding when she said my condition was all over the paper. _Inwardly, I sighed in relief at the distraction but I felt a pair of brown eyes watching me in concern.

I turned my head in her direction and flashed her a grin.

"I'm _fine_, 'Mione," I whispered convincingly. She nodded her head but I could tell she didn't believe a single word.

Somewhere during the boys' discussion, after Dean and Seamus left, the lunch trolley came rattling along the corridor, and Hermione was immersed in _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4_, and started to learn the Summoning Charm.

"You know, Kia, you should try getting ahead as well," Hermione told me, trying to nudge my head off of her shoulder.

"I am," I said, trying to look down at the book in her hands. "But you keep moving your bloody shoulder."

"You're unbelievable," she muttered.

"I know."

"Gran didn't want to go," I heard Neville say. "Wouldn't buy tickets. It sounded amazing though."

"It was," Ron told him. "Look at this, Neville."

My eyes strayed from the book in Hermione's hands to Ron, who was rummaging through his trunk up in the luggage rack. He pulled out the miniature figure of Viktor Krum.

"Oh, _wow_," Neville said enviously as Ron handed Neville the figure.

"We saw him right up close, as well," Ron said. "We were in the Top Box —"

"For the first and last time in your life."

The new voice immediately caught my attention and I looked in the direction of the opened compartment door. Standing in front of us with his two enormous, sluggish cronies was Draco Malfoy. My eyes narrowed at his words and I took back what I thought about him before. _He's still a complete ass._

"Don't remember asking you to join us, Malfoy," Harry said coolly.

But Malfoy decided to ignore Harry and he was looking at something else. I followed his gaze, which was focused on Pigwidgeon's cage. Or more likely what was _on _it. I realized what he was going to do. _Oh no._

"Weasley…what is _that_?" Malfoy asked, pointing at the little owl's cage. Swaying with the motion of the train was the sleeve of Ron's dress robes was dangling from the cage.

Ron tried to stuff the robes out of sight, but Malfoy quickly seized the sleeve and pulled.

"Look at this!" Malfoy said ecstatically, holding up Ron's robes for Crabbe and Goyle to see, "Weasley, you weren't thinking of _wearing_ these, were you? I mean — they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety…."

"Eat dung, Malfoy!" Ron shouted, his face turning the same shade as the dress robes. He snatched the robes from Malfoy's grip and the git howled with laughter, Crabbe and Goyle guffawed stupidly.

"So…going to enter, Weasley? Going to try and bring a bit of glory to the family name? There's money involved as well, you know….you'd be able to afford some decent robes if you won…."

_So he knows what is going to happen at Hogwarts too?_

"What are you talking about?" Ron snapped.

"_Are you going to enter?_" Malfoy repeated, glancing from Ron to Harry. "I suppose _you_ will, Potter? You never miss a chance to show off, do you?"

"Either explain what you're going on about or go away, Malfoy," Hermione said testily from beside me. Upon hearing Hermione's words, a gleeful smile spread onto Malfoy's face.

"Don't tell me you don't _know_?" he said, his tone taking on a rather delightful ring to it. If I didn't want to punch him before, I certainly wanted to now._ He's so damn annoying!_ "You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even _know_? My God, _my_ father told me about it ages ago…heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated himself with the top people at the Ministry….Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley…yes…they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him…."

Malfoy laughed at his own little joke.

"Repeat of last term?"

As soon as his grey eyes met mine, my eyes narrowed at and his laughter died away. A smirk was placed on his lips instead, and he turned around, beckoning Crabbe and Goyle to follow him out.

_The hell?_

I raised an eyebrow at his odd behavior, but the thought vanished when sound of a slamming compartment door met my ears followed by the sound of shattering glass. I looked at the source of noise to see Ron standing next to the compartment door.

"_Ron!_" Hermione scolded, pulling out her wand and she muttered "_Reparo!_" and the glass shards flew back into a single pane and back into the door.

"Well…making it look like he knows everything and we don't…." Ron snarled. " '_Father's always associated himself with the top people at the Ministry_.'…Dad could've got a promotion anytime…he just likes it where he is…"

"Of course he does," Hermione said quietly. "Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron —"

"Him! Get to me! As if!" Ron said, picking up the remaining Cauldron Cakes and squishing it in his hand. I smiled at Ron's violent behavior and placed my feet underneath me in a comfortable manner.

"So…Ron," I said, catching his attention and trying to keep him from a bad mood, "how many punches do you think it'll take until he passes out?"


	13. The Feast

**A/N: Enjoy the chapter! **

"I'm going to _kill_ Peeves."

"Actually, Kia, you can't —"

"I know, 'Mione," the black haired witch said, frowning at her soaking wet hair. She heard her friend sigh with exasperation at the predicament they were in. The poltergeist was at it again. This time with water balloons. It would have been funny if she wasn't in a foul mood. A brief vision of Peeves howling in pain on the floor entered Kirsten's mind and caused her to smile. _If only…_

Warmth filled her senses as she entered the Great Hall. It looked grand as usual, decorated for the start-of-term feast. Golden plates and goblets gleamed under the light of hundreds of floating candles. Students filled the four long House tables, chatting amongst themselves. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Kirsten walked past the other students and sat down at the Gryffindor table, where they spotted their House Ghost beaming at us.

It didn't take long until Kirsten was suddenly aware how many students were seated around them. She mentally cursed. _Please do not start. Not now._

But it seemed that her condition had a mind of it's own because the pounding of heartbeats filled her head. Placing her arm on the table, Kirsten put her hand against her temple in a normal fashion. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out evenly trying not to scream out in pain. The sharp pangs and heartbeats ceased, leaving the usual dull pain.

_Why is it getting worse? Ever since the World Cup…this never happened when I was in the States…_

"Good evening," Nearly Headless Nick greeted.

_Maybe I should leave before the feast begins…it doesn't seem like a good idea for me to stay here._

"Says who?" Harry said, taking off his shoes and emptying them of water. "Hope they hurry up with the Sorting. I'm starving."

Before another word could be said, a highly excitable Gryffindor called from down the table, "Hiya, Harry!"

A small smile crept onto fourteen year old witch's face at who was yelling to Harry.

"Hi, Colin," Harry said, rather warily.

"Harry, guess what? Guess what, Harry? My brother's starting. My brother Dennis!"

Colin Creevey's joyous attitude made Kirsten jealous at times. It seemed as if nothing could piss him off.

"Er — good," Harry said.

"He's really excited!" Colin said, basically bouncing up and down in his seat. "I just hope he's in Gryffindor! Keep your fingers crossed, eh, Harry?"

"Er — yeah, all right," Harry said. "Brothers and sisters usually go in the same Houses, don't they?" he asked.

"Oh no, not necessarily," Hermione spoke up. "Parvati Patil's twin's in Ravenclaw, and they're identical. You'd think they'd be together, wouldn't you?"

Harry's eyes looked down the opposite side of the table and Kirsten's eyes followed. The staff table, situated where the teachers could watch the students, had several empty seats. Professor Mcgonagall was not seated but she was probably getting the first years ready. _And Hagrid must be with the first years too._

"Where's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Hermione wondered aloud. Kirsten's eyes traveled the table and she did not spot the new face of a professor. _Who did Dumbledore tell me was the new professor back at the hospital?_

"Maybe they couldn't get anyone!" Hermione said, eyes wandering around the Hall anxiously.

"Oh they got someone," Kirsten spoke up quietly, remembering the conversation back at Saint Mungo's. Only Hermione heard her though as both Harry and Ron were staring at the staff table.

"Kia, are you alright?"

The young witch glanced at her with a grin. "Of course. Just thinking about what ridiculous and out-of-this-world thing will happen this year."

"Hopefully nothing," Hermione said, sighing at the thought.

"Oh hurry up," Ron moaned as if he was in agony, "I could eat a hippogriff."

Kirsten's mouth opened to comment on what Ron said but the doors to the Great Hall and silence fell throughout the tables. Professor McGonagall was leading a long line of what looked like midgets. If Kirsten thought she was soaking wet, then she must have been mad. It looked as if the first years swam across the lake instead of riding a boat. All of them were shivering from the cold and possibly nerves; except for a mousy haired boy who was wrapped in what looked like Hagrid's moleskin overcoat. A familiar glow of excitement seemed to exude from the boy instead of the fear that the other children seemed to exude. She noticed that the young boy made eye contact with Colin Creevey down the table and she couldn't help the smile on her face.

_That must be Colin's little brother._

Professor McGonagall placed the three-legged stool on the ground and the hat that sorted Kirsten into Gryffindor sat on top of it. She watched with amusement as the first years stared at it, remembering the ridiculous ideas the kids last year thought up of. The brim opened wide like a mouth and the hat broke into song:

_A thousand years or more ago,_

_When I was newly sewn,_

_There lived four wizards of renown,_

_Whose names are still well known:_

_Bold Gryffindor, from wild moor,_

_Fair Ravenclaw, from glen,_

_Sweet Hufflepuff, from valley broad,_

_Shrewd Slytherin, from fen._

_They shared a wish, a hope, a dream,_

_They hatched a daring plan_

_To educate young sorcerers _

_Thus Hogwarts School began._

_Now each of these four founders_

_Formed their own house, for each_

_Did value different virtues_

_In the ones they had to teach._

_By Gryffindor, the bravest were_

_Prized far beyond the rest;_

_For Ravenclaw, the cleverest_

_Would always be the best;_

_For Hufflepuff, hard workers were_

_Most worthy of admission;_

_And power-hungry Slytherin_

_Loved those of great ambition._

_While still alive they did divide_

_Their favorites from the throng,_

_Yet how to pick the worthy ones_

_When they were dead and gone?_

'_Twas Gryffindor who found the way,_

_He whipped me off his head_

_The founders put some brains in me_

_So I could choose instead!_

_Now slip me snug about your ears,_

_I've never yet been wrong,_

_I'll have a look inside your mind_

_And tell where you belong! _

The Great Hall rang with applause at the end of the song. Professor McGonagall unfurled a large scroll of parchment.

"When I call out your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool," she told the first years. "When the hat announces your House, you will go and sit at the appropriate table.

"Ackerley, Stewart!"

A young boy walked up, trembling with fright, picked up the Sorting Hat, put it on his head, and sat down on the stool.

"RAVENCLAW!" the hat shouted.

Ackerley took off the hat and practically ran to his seat at the Ravenclaw table. Passed the Ravenclaw table, Kirsten noticed a pair of grey eyes staring at her from the Slytherin table. The same smirk that he wore on the train was still plastered on his face.

She raised an eyebrow at the blond and let a smirk show on her own face before turning her attention back to the front of the room. _Don't tell me he remembered our bet._

"Baddock, Malcolm!"

"SLYTHERIN!"

She watched the little boy walk toward the Slytherin table, where Malfoy and the rest of Slytherin House were clapping.

"Branstone, Eleanor!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Cauldwell, Owen!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Creevey, Dennis!"

Colin's tiny brother staggered forward onto the stool with the hat on his head. Kirsten's eyes moved from Dennis's little frame to a larger one belonging to none other than Hagrid. She saw him wink at the four of them as he sat down at the end of the staff table, and they smiled at him in greeting.

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat shouted.

Kirsten clapped along with the rest of the Gryffindors for our new addition. Dennis hurried over to join his brother after settling the hat on the stool.

"Colin, I fell in!" he said shrilly, throwing himself into an empty seat. "It was brilliant! And something in the water grabbed me and pushed me back in the boat!"

"Cool!" Colin replied with just as much enthusiasm as his younger brother. "It was probably the giant squid, Dennis!"

"_Wow!_" Dennis said in awe.

"Dennis! Dennis! See that boy down there? The one with the black hair and the glasses? See him? _Know who he is, Dennis?_"

A laugh escaped Kirsten's lips as she glanced at Harry who was looking away from the two brothers. The Sorting Hat continued to place the rest of the first years into their proper Houses. With the final kid being Kevin Whitby, the Sorting ended, and Professor Mcgonagall picked up both the hat and the stool to put away.

"About time," Ron said, seizing his knife and fork and looking at his empty golden plate.

Professor Dumbledore got to his feet, smiling at the students around the Hall.

"I have only two words to say to you," he said. "_Tuck in_."

With those two words, food magically appeared onto the empty plates. Reaching out at some of the food sitting near, Kirsten grabbed some steak and potatoes and piled it onto her plate. But she couldn't help but stare at Ron.

"Hungry, Ron?" she asked as he stuffed some chicken into his mouth hurriedly.

"'arvin'" he replied, his mouth full of food.

"You're lucky there's a feast at all tonight, you know," Nearly Headless Nick told them. "There was trouble in the kitchens earlier."

"Why? Wha' 'happened?" Harry asked, and Kirsten could see a nice chunk of steak in his mouth.

"Peeves, of course," the Gryffindor ghost said, shaking his head. His head wobbled dangerously and he pulled up his ruff higher up on his neck. "The usual argument, you know. He wanted to attend the feast — well, it's quite out of the question, you know what he's like, utterly uncivilized, can't see a plate of food without throwing it. We held a ghost's council — the Fat Friar was all for giving him the chance — but most wisely, in my opinion, the Bloody Baron put his foot down."

Kirsten stuffed her mouth with a piece of steak that she hurriedly carved, shaking my head. _Thank God for the Bloody Baron._

"Yeah, we thought Peeves seemed hacked off about something," Ron said darkly. "So what did he do in the kitchens?"

"Oh the usual," Nick said, shrugging his shoulders. "Wreaked havoc and mayhem. Pots and pans everywhere. Place swimming in soup. Terrified the house-elves out of their wits —"

_Clang._

Ron, Harry, and Kirsten looked in Hermione's direction to see that she had knocked over her golden goblet. She paid no attention to the pumpkin juice staining the white linen orange; her eyes on the ghost.

"There are house-elves _here_?" she asked. Her eyes were right on Nearly Headless Nick. "Here at _Hogwarts_?"

This new bit of information caught Kirsten's attention as well. She tried remembering ever seeing a house-elf at Hogwarts and realized I never saw one. _That's how the dormitory rooms are so clean._

"Certainly," Nearly Headless Nick replied. He looked surprised at Hermione. "The largest number in any dwelling in Britain, I believe. Over a hundred."

_Thump._

"Shit," Kirsten muttered lowly, pressing my hand against my temple. The stinging sensation of the first pound was a warning of how terrible this time around would be. I quickly got up and made my way through the doors of the Great Hall. Numerous heartbeats were pounding in her head by the time she turned into a corridor.

Kirsten Black couldn't help but let out a strangled gasp at the pain. Her head felt light but heavy at the same time. She felt cool and hot. There was nothing more than she wanted to do than getting rid of the pain. She _needed _to get rid of the pain. She _needed _to get rid of those damn heartbeats. _They_ were _hurting_ her.

How was it that everyone else didn't have to go through this excruciating pain but she did? They were the ones that were causing it. _Causing _her pain.

Through the blinding pain and the dangerous thoughts filling her mind, the young witch didn't notice a cool hand touch her head. She didn't notice the one heartbeat that she grew familiar to learning. The one that belonged to the man who attacked her that night.

"You all right there, Black?"


	14. Professor Moody

**A/N: I'd like to say thank you to Prongs and Lily Flower, MoonGuardian8, KaitlynEmmaRose, .girl, and all of my other reviewers and readers. Enjoy.**

_Kirsten Black couldn't help but let out a strangled gasp at the pain. Her head felt light but heavy at the same time. She felt cool and hot. There was nothing more than she wanted to do than getting rid of the pain. She needed to get rid of the pain. She needed to get rid of those damn heartbeats. They were hurting her._

_How was it that everyone else didn't have to go through this excruciating pain but she did? They were the ones that were causing it. Causing her pain. _

_Through the blinding pain and the dangerous thoughts filling her mind, the young witch didn't notice a cool hand touch her head. She didn't notice the one heartbeat that she grew familiar to learning. The one that belonged to the man who attacked her that night._

"_You alright there, Black?"_

Kirsten whirled her head around to find the individual of the voice that still rang in the hall. She didn't realize that the heartbeats had stopped pounding as her eyes landed on the man in the hallway. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight. Standing before her, with an arm outstretched, was a frightening man. She noted that most of his body weight was supported by a long staff and his wooden leg. Her eyes traveled towards his face or from what she could see from underneath his hood. She couldn't help but shift uncomfortably by what she could see; a large, vivid, electric blue eye swiveling in its socket along with a normal-looking small dark, beady eye.

_How the hell does he know who I am?_

"Yeah…I'm alright…who are you?"

The man pushed his hood back a little with a gnarly hand to let her catch a glimpse of his face. Every inch of his skin seemed scarred and she couldn't help but stare. Gashes were strewed all across his face and a large chunk of his nose was missing. But her eyes were mainly staring at his eyes. If she thought it was creepy when he had his hood up, it was even creepier without it.

"Alastor Moody," the man said. "Your new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."

Kirsten felt stupid when he caught her staring at him, even if it was blatantly obvious. She would hate it if kids stared at her face.

"I'm sorry —"

"No need to apologize," he said gruffly. "Are you well enough to walk?"

"Yeah, I'm fine…I just had a headache," she replied. They both set off towards the Great Hall, Moody's wooden leg clunking down the hall every other step. She couldn't help but feel that he was watching her walk beside him. After all, he _did_ have a blue eye swiveling around in his socket.

The two reached the closed double doors leading to the entrance of the Great Hall. A deafening rumble of thunder sounded from behind the doors at the same time Moody caused the doors to burst open. She didn't know whether to laugh or to…well…_laugh._

_The man must look like some psychotic killer._

All eyes were on the man, who had found her just minutes ago. From what she could see standing behind him, most of the students were wide-eyed. Most likely from his appearance. It couldn't get past Kirsten of how _odd_ and _frightening_ the man appeared. He caught her off guard for crying out loud.

Moody removed his hood, revealing a long mane of dark gray hair and glanced over at Kirsten. He nodded his head as if to tell her to follow him up to the staff table.

Without another pause, Moody led the way up to the staff table. She followed him into the Great Hall and felt the eyes of her classmates on her. Kirsten realized that Dumbledore stood in front of the staff table waiting for the two to reach him.

Moody was the first to approach the headmaster and held out a hand for Dumbledore to shake. From where Kirsten was standing even she couldn't hear what the two were saying to one another. But from what she could tell it was as if Dumbledore was inquiring as to why the new professor was late.

After an exchange of words, Kirsten noticed that both men were looking at her. Moody held out his gnarled hand, placed it on her shoulder, nodded at her and then to Dumbledore. The odd new professor went around the table to sit down.

"I would like to see you in my office tomorrow, Kirsten."

Her eyes snapped away from Moody and to Dumbledore. Kirsten nodded her head and gave him a small smile. She turned away from the professor to see the sea of students watching her.

Kirsten made her way between the house tables, ignoring the looks many, if not all, were giving her. Her eyes were set on a specific spot at the Gryffindor table. And in a matter of seconds, she sat down in the empty spot that was her seat. They were just staring at her. She couldn't help the slight anger that coursed through her at the attention. Sure she walked in with a strange man, that looked half dead. But she wasn't the one who looked like that.

It was then that she heard some of the whispers around the hall. She caught one word…well one name. _Jacklay_.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?" Dumbledore said brightly into the silence. "Professor Moody."

Not one person clapped for Moody besides Dumbledore and Hagrid. Kirsten's eyes roamed over to the staff table where the new professor settled himself, and noticed his blue eye swiveling restlessly in his socket.

"Moody?" Harry muttered to Ron. "_Mad-Eye Moody?_ The one your dad went to help this morning?"

_What? I missed that._

"Must be," Ron replied in a low voice.

"What happened to him?" Hermione whispered. "What happened to his _face_?"

"Dunno," Ron whispered back. All three of their eyes landed on Kirsten. And she could tell what they were asking by just the expressions on their faces.

"Not a clue. Just saw him in the corridor," she told them quietly, glancing at Moody once again. Her attention was brought back once again to Dumbledore who cleared his throat.

"As I was saying," he said, smiling at the sea of students who were still gazing at Mad-Eye Moody, "we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year."

Kirsten's eyes widened at this revelation. _A tournament? _Apparently, she wasn't the only one to be surprised.

"You're JOKING!" Fred said loudly.

The tension that filled the Hall ever since Moody appeared disappeared in an instant with Fred's comment with almost everyone laughing. Everyone suddenly and temporarily forgot about the odd appearance of Mad-Eye Moody.

"I am _not_ joking, Mr. Weasley," he said, "though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar…"

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat as Dumbledore was about to go on, and Kirsten couldn't help but let out a laugh. She really didn't know what Hogwarts would be like without him.

"Er — but maybe this is not the time…no…" the headmaster said, "where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament…well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I hope those who _do_ know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely.

"The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued."

This definitely peaked Kirsten's interest.

"_Death toll?_" Hermione whispered, looking alarmed. The black haired witch glanced at her friend and gave her a grin. It seemed as if Hermione was the only one actually worried about the death toll. Kirsten took a quick look around the Great Hall to see all of the students whispering excitedly to one another.

"There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament," Dumbledore continued speaking, "none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.

"The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money."

Kirsten turned her eyes to Fred Weasley as he declared that he was going to enter, his face was lit with an enthusiasm at the idea of glory and riches. The whispers of the students gathered in the Hall grew louder and she could hear most of them declaring that they would enter as well.

"Eager though I know all of you will be bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts," he said, "the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This," — Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and Kirsten briefly noticed the furious looks on the Weasley twins' faces — "is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion." The elderly man's eyes flickered to Fred's and George's furious faces. "I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen.

"The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!"

Students from all four of the tables got to their feet and began to scramble for the door. Dumbledore's eyes landed on Kirsten and he inclined his head to her before settling himself down again to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. The action between the headmaster and Kirsten didn't go unnoticed by her three friends.

"They can't do that!" George Weasley said, not moving with the crowd. His eyes were glaring in Dumbledore's direction. Kirsten grinned at the anger emanating off of the Weasley twins. "We're seventeen in April, why can't we have a shot?"

"They're not stopping me entering," Fred stated. "The champion's get to do all sorts of stuff you'd never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand galleons prize money!"

"Yeah," Ron said, a faraway look on his face. "Yeah, a thousand Galleons…"

Kirsten's grin slipped off her face as she watched the brothers. She knew that Ron's family was not wealthy and she respected the family no matter what. They were the ones who accepted her, even when they knew who her father was. She wanted to help the family financially but she knew Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would never accept it. And she was quite worried that the boys would stop to nothing from entering.

"Come on," Hermione said, "we'll be the only ones left here if you don't move."

All six Gryffindors set off for the entrance hall, Fred and George discussing various ways Dumbledore could keep them from entering.

_I wonder who the judge is._

"Who's this impartial judge who's going to decide who the champions are?" Harry asked.

"Dunno," Fred replied, "but it's them we'll have to fool. I reckon a couple of drops of Aging Potion might do it, George…."

"Dumbledore knows you're not of age, though," Ron told them.

_Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

It was times like these that Kirsten wished she was alone. No one near her within a one mile radius. Though, even that wouldn't be enough to stop the incessant pounding. She put two fingers to her temple, closed her eyes, and began to breath in and out deeply, stopping mid-step. Her mind was reeling. The voices of her friends beside her. The heartbeats of her friends beside her. She could hear the fast pounding of Fred and George's with anger.

_They_ were causing her the pain. _They _were responsible for her pain. Her thoughts were leaning on edge to stop the throbbing once and for all.

_No!_ _Breath, Kirsten! Stay in control._

It stopped. The throbbing pain her head was going through dulled to a small sting as she could no longer hear the pounding.

Kirsten let out a shaky breath and opened her eyes.

Fortunately enough for her, Fred and George were still at it about Dumbledore with Harry, Ron, and Neville listening farther ahead. Unfortunately, Hermione was staring at her.

They all reached the large portrait of the fat lady and entered, once George said the password. She could still feel Hermione's eyes on her as they entered the Gryffindor common room but ignored it. Her eyes roamed the familiar and warm feel of the common room. She missed it over the summer.

"_Slave labor_," Hermione hissed, looking around the common. Kirsten was silently grateful that her best friend was no longer looking at her when her eyes landed on the boys. "Good night."

"Night," Kirsten told them. She bound up the spiral staircase with the bushy haired witch by her side. _Parvati and Lavender better be up there._


End file.
